


Light Lost

by Grumpyhugs



Series: Of Shield and Lance [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5.0 spoilers, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, But warms up to people, Canon typical everything honestly, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Death, Depression, Emet is now here after chapter 20!, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gonna include screenshots too, M/M, May change rating to E later not sure yet, Multi, Panic Attacks, Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn, This was written before 4.55, Will Add Tags As They Become Relevant, WoL/Inquisitor is a grumpy asshole, a bit canon divergent for a few reasons, i guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2020-03-10 00:57:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 76,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18928063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grumpyhugs/pseuds/Grumpyhugs
Summary: Erevard, the Warrior of Light is pulled into the world of Thedas and becomes the Herald of Andraste. However, this Warrior wants nothing more than to go home - he is pulled in the midst of a war by the mysterious voice Calling the Scions, and everything that he is could spell ruin for the fledgling Inquisition.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: THIS FIC WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR UP TO PATCH 4.5 OF FFXIV. IF YOU ARE PLAYING FFXIV YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! I don't want to spoil the main story for anyone!
> 
>  
> 
> So I've had this sitting around for a while and after reading the amazing Bloodborne and Dragon Age crossover fic (A Hunter in Thedas) by Aile (which is on-going and awesome please go read it!), I wanted to take my own crack at it with FFXIV. I did dabble in RP on it and my OC is Erevard; a very cranky middle-aged Duskwight, but he wasn't a WoL so I'm twisting his personality and story to fit the role of the WoL. He isn't a traditional WoL because of this, but he did 'romance' Haurchefant and that will play into the story. If you're curious as to what Erevard looks like, here he is! https://imgur.com/a/CFO5AMa
> 
> I doubt this fic will get big but if any Dragon Age or FFXIV readers are confused about either of the two worlds involved, feel free to ask questions, I'm more than happy to answer! Also constructive criticism is welcome! Also, italics are generally for inner thoughts.

**The Light… Will expunge all life. Only you… Can forestall the calamity.**

 

They reached for each other-

 

**A calamity... looms.**

 

“No! Not now! Not… Like…” Alisaie fell before he could even touch her. Through the torrent, he could see Yugiri rush to, what he knew would be, her soulless body.

 

Hien grabbed his hand before it went back to his head, as another wave of pain blast him.

 

**Throw wide the gates.**

 

Hien was shouting something. His mouth was moving, his eyes wide with fear, his hands gripping the Warrior’s wrists.

 

**THROW WIDE THE GATES.**

 

Erevard’s vision was going black, his legs felt weak and his body heavy.

 

_Me too, then? Will I have my rest, Mother?_

 

“Hien, I can’t-”

 

_I don’t want to fight it anymore. It hurts._

 

“Erevard stay with me!”

 

The last thing he heard were Hien’s pleas and the voice in his head screaming, then the world went black.

 

* * *

  


“Commander! We found a survivor!”

 

Shouts came from over the hill. Cullen whirled around; that must be one of the scouting parties. _Maker, how could anyone have survived… this?_

 

One of the scouts came running, he could just barely make out the heads of the other two over the hill. _What’s wrong?_ His brow furrowed. The scout saluted him. “Sir! Found a survivor, but…” Their eyes went back to their group - who were still not over the damned hill. Cullen wondered what was taking so long, where they hauling the survivor or what?

 

“Out with it, soldier. What’s wrong?”

  
The soldier turned back to him, worry all over their face. “It’s just… We don’t know what he _is_. Worse, something is wrong with his hand. It’s… marked with something. It flickers and he… He’s in pain from it.”

 

Then, finally, the two came into full view. They were carrying a rather... large man. Cullen’s eyes narrowed - it was impossible to see details from this far. “Let’s go, I need to see this survivor.”

 

The soldier nodded and ran with him. As they ran, he continued, his words sputtered out between deep breaths. “He’s not human, sir! Unconscious, fell out of a rift, looks elf-y, but too big!”

_Elf-y? Fell out of a rift?_

The two scouts carrying him laid him down, probably too winded to carry him. As Cullen got closer, he could finally make out details. And, it did nothing to help.

 

The man wore armour he had never seen before. It looked like a jacket of sorts, brown leathers with some black, but accented with golden pauldrons and various accessories - the belt being straps and tied with a large golden rod of sorts, with a small pouch on his left hip. The armour was open in the neck, with a neatly tied white scarf. His gauntlets were also trimmed with gold, but appeared to be made of some black and red metals, as were his boots. The pants were brown leather as well. One of his scouts was carrying a large shield on their back, they took it off slowly and placed it beside the unconscious man; the crest was nothing he had ever seen before too, that of a red horse. The other scout layed down a massive sword as well. _So he’s definitely a warrior._

 

Cullen leaned down to look at his face. The first thing that stuck out was his… magenta? Hair? He frowned. _Not normal._ White tattoos covered his face; over his eyes. Too basic to be Dalish, but still facial tattoos. He saw now too, why the scout had said ‘elf-y’. His ears were rather large, even for an elf. Large ears for a large man - he had to be at least seven feet tall, too - easily as big as a Qunari.

 

The scout who was holding the shield spoke up, “Commander, he fell out of a fade rift at the Temple, we carried him here…”

 

Cullen nodded, looking to the scout then back to… the elf? “Good work, go get some rest. We’re taking shifts, there’s still plenty of fighting with the demons about. Get some others here to bring him back to Haven, preferably with a cart. He’s… big.”

 

The Breach flickered again. The man whimpered, his face contorting in pain, his hand flared with it.

“It’s been doing that since we found him, sir.” Shield scout looked at the man and sighed, “Is it possible he was… the one who did this?”

 

Cullen shook his head. _We’ll know if he wakes up. Leliana can see to that._ “We’ll find out. For now, we worry about the demons. Get moving!”

 

_Maker help us._

 

* * *

  


Everything hurt. He felt stiff, he felt hungry, his head was pounding, his throat was dry, and… His wrists were bound. _Dare I open my eyes? Did the Garleans take me?_

 

He blinked them closed immediately again, the light stung. As the rest of his senses came back, he realized he was on his knees on cold stone. _Ah, dungeon._ He heard footsteps; and forced his eyes open once again. He was indeed in a dungeon, surrounded by four people holding swords to his head. There were torches strewn about the place, but he couldn’t make out faces with how little light there was, coupled with his eyes still adjusting. They wore colours and armour he had never seen before, and if they were Garlean they wouldn’t be carrying such rudimentary weapons; the swords were steel. The footsteps got louder, and the door to his little dungeon opened. Two more came through, the soldiers lowered their weapons.

 

The first of the two newcomers, both women, he noticed. The first stood in front of him and stared - she had hardened eyes, her gaze full of hate. A hint of red hair formed under her purple hood. He wondered what she looked like without that look. The other was fully armoured, he saw a large white eye on her before she stalked behind him.

 

His hand burst with pain, he cried out as green light flickered across it. _It burns!_

 

The woman behind him finally spoke, “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

 

That was an accent he’d never heard before.

 

“The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

 

“W-where…” He tried to speak, but his voice came out hoarse, he coughed and tried again. “Where am I?”

 

The purple hooded one sneered, he didn’t think she could look more angry, but she did.

 

The other stepped forward and began circling him. She had short black hair, and held a sword - her hand rested on the pummel as she walked around him. “I am asking questions, not you.” The words were practically spat with venom at him.

  
“I don’t know where I am. One minute I was on the battlefield with Alisaie and now-”

 

She grabbed him by the collar and held him up to her face, her teeth barred and eyes full of anger. The other woman placed a hand on her shoulder, and she relaxed and let him drop back to his knees. It hurt.

 

The other woman finally spoke, it was with another accent he had never heard before. “Let him speak. We need him.”

 

They turned to him, and the redhead continued. “Tell us.”

 

Erevard wondered how much he should explain. If they were the enemy… _Damn it all. Maybe I could just… If there’s an aetheryte…? No. Better to try to stay alive, learn something. Thancred would tell me that._

 

He shook his head - the details were fuzzy on what was happening before he… fell… Where was Alisaie if he was here?

 

“The Alliance… We were fighting the Garleans at the Ghimlyt-”

 

The dark haired woman interrupted, “‘The Alliance?’ ‘Garleans?’” The redhead pinched the bridge of her nose and started pacing behind him. He didn’t bother to look, just kept his eyes locked on the dark haired one.

 

“I… Yes? Where. Am. I? The Alliance will-”

 

“There is no such thing as an “Alliance” here. I have never heard of ‘Garleans.’” The redhead spoke behind him. “You… What are you? Where are you from?”

 

The first woman practically snarled, “Leliana, you can’t mean to tell me-” So the redhead was Leliana.

 

“Let him speak.” _At least Leliana is a bit more sensible,_ he mused.

 

“I am Eorzea’s Warrior of Light, with the Alliance-”

 

“Eorzea? I have never heard of such a place.” Leliana appeared in front of him again, and stared him down, the anger was gone but replaced with a look of curiosity. “You are in Ferelden, in Thedas.”

 

Erevard’s stomach dropped. “Oh, by the Twelve…”

 

Shortly after the Dragonsong War ended, Erevard had encountered Warriors like him, that fell to Darkness. Warriors of Darkness, fallen from Light because their world had been swallowed by Light. They told him there were multiple stars tied to his own - and each could become engulfed by Dark or Light. Was he on another world…?

 

Leliana tapped her chin, “By the Twelve?”

 

The other woman stepped next to Leliana and sneered some more, “He could be lying. I do not believe this.”

 

“Cassandra, please. Let him speak.”

 

‘Cassandra’ huffed in annoyance, but turned back to him.

 

His hand flickered again, and pain seared through it. He screamed this time. Cassandra grabbed his wrist and brought it up to his face. His hand was flickering green, a huge gash lay across his palm; yet no blood came from it. Just eerie green light.

 

“This ‘mark’ is killing you. Each time the Breach expands, so does your mark.” She dropped his wrist and it fell weakly to the floor with his other hand, he wasn’t sure if he had the strength to even hold his arms up on his own. Erevard looked down at his hand, the flickering was going down, as was the pain.

 

“Mark…? From?” He did not look back up to them, he just stared at his palm. The green faded more and more, until there was nothing.

 

Cassandra sighed loudly, “The Divine was holding a Conclave. An explosion killed _everyone_ , and then demons came pouring from rifts. You were found just outside of one, unconscious and marked with that. We brought you here to find answers, but now…”

 

Leliana cut her off, “We have more questions now.” Cassandra nodded.

 

“I… I’m not from here. I’m from Eorzea… I was told it’s possible there are other worlds, but- I… Didn’t think I’d end up on one. I think I know how.” He looked back up at them, Leliana gestured with her hands for him to continue.

 

“My friends and I, we- started to hear a voice. Well, I heard the voice. They couldn’t make it out. They fell into… comas? I suppose? The Seedseer said they were… basically without souls. They all fell except me and Alisaie, until the battle. I drove off two Garlean… high… soldiers? And then the voice came.” He flinched thinking about it. What would the Alliance do without him now? Is there a body with them still, is he like the rest of the Scions? Laying comatose in an infirmary in the Rising Stones? What about Alisaie? Were they all here, too?

 

Cassandra coughed. He continued, “The voice came, stronger than it ever did. Alisaie and I both heard it and I… I reached for her, but she fell before I could even touch her. Then Lord Hien called to me but… Then it’s blank. I think I fell, too.”

 

Leliana began tapping her foot against the stone, the noise made his head throb and he winced. She didn’t seem to notice, “What did the voice say?”

 

“I… I think it was telling me that a calamity was coming. ‘Light will expunge all life.’ Then… It kept screaming, ‘Throw wide the gates.’ Then I… fell.” He felt ashamed saying it. The Warrior of Light, finally bested. By a voice in his head, no less. _Well, in the Scions’ heads. Not like the world already thought we were loony enough._  

 

They were still silent, so he let his thoughts go out loud. “The Warriors of Darkness told me that their world fell to Light. They were… like me. Warriors of Light who defeated every bit of Dark in their world. They kept fighting until there was nothing left to fight, and then… A great explosion of Light killed their world.”

 

Cassandra huffed in annoyance. Leliana stayed quiet.

 

“I wonder if the voice was telling me that I’m doing the same. Did Mother Hydaelyn take me from the world to save it…?” He was yanked upwards to his feet before he finished the thought, Cassandra grabbed him by the wrist and led him outside. He kept his head down and eyes shut, still adjusting to brighter light, but he knew Leliana followed.

 

“We have much to speak about, but now, we deal with this.”

 

When he opened his eyes and could finally see properly, the sight made him sick. The sky was… Bleeding green, like his hand was. It looked like a great cut in the sky, large rocks floated up to it and hung in the sickly green light coming from the hole.

 

“Leliana, go to the forward camp. I will bring him to the rift.” He didn’t watch her leave, he kept his eyes locked on the hole in the sky.

 

“This is... The Breach?” Erevard looked from the sky down to his palm, then to Cassandra.

 

Cassandra nodded.

 

The Breach flickered, and his hand flared with it. The pain sent him to his knees with a gasp, he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, his hand burned with the Breach.

 

Cassandra bent down to him and looked him in the eyes, “Each time the Breach spreads, your mark does. It is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there is not much time.”

 

Erevard spoke through gasps, “Key? To what?”

 

“To closing the Breach. It is our only chance, and yours.”

 

He scoffed, “Still think I’m guilty, don’t you?”

 

“Someone is. Prove your innocence, and help us.”

 

He rose, out of pride and anger towards this woman. “I am a Warrior of Light; do not think for a moment I would run from this.”

 

Cassandra’s eyes were wide. “I… Good. Follow.” She did not yank him, at least, but she pushed him forward with a hand on his back. If Erevard wasn’t in pain, he’d laugh. Now that he stood up and looked, he was so much larger than her.

 

As they walked through what looked like a small settlement, angry eyes fell upon him everywhere he looked. Villagers, people in armour, everyone looked at him with utter hate.

 

Cassandra noticed, “The people of Haven mourn our most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers.”

 _Most Holy? Divine? This sounds too much like the Holy See._ The thought sent shivers down his spine. He would love to never see another ‘King Thordan’ again.

“Chantry…?”

 

Cassandra ignored him and kept talking. “It was a chance for peace between mages and templars.”

_No idea what a Templar is, but I’m guessing this is some sort of civil war. Fantastic._

“She brought their leaders together, now they are dead.” Her voice cracked for a moment. This pained her? “We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did. Until the Breach is sealed…”

 

She pulled a knife and faced him, he winced. “There will be a trial. I can promise no more.” She grabbed his wrists and cut the bindings. “Come. It is not far.”

He rubbed at his wrists and watched her go, “Where are you taking me, Cassandra?”

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach.”

 

They made their way to a bridge. Soldiers littered it, one was rocking himself back and forth, eyes wild and unfocused. Another sat upon boxes and could barely keep their head up. A man in white and red robes was… chanting, something, to a group. They barely even noticed him walk by. Then he saw the bodies. Wrapped in crude sacks.

 

Erevard was no stranger to death and war; Fury knows he had partaken in it quite enough. But the sight of bodies always unsettled him. A life gone, because of hatred and who knows what else. Cassandra had said actual _demons_ were coming from the Breach. These people were losing lives to _demons._

 

He did not enjoy fighting Voidsent. They fought dirty and used wicked magic. Even though Erevard had Soul Crystals for every possible thing he could get, he never felt comfortable fighting magic. Y’shtola had lectured him once it was best to stick an arrow in a mage if he could, just get rid of them _fast._ But, he always preferred his sword and shield, especially after… After…

 

_A Knight lives to serve._

 

_No. Not the time for this. Not the time at all. Think about the present, Erevard._

 

“Open the gate! We are heading into the valley!” Cassandra pushed him forward; the door ahead of them was opened by two soldiers. He dared not look back at the bodies again behind them now _._

 

Soldiers ran down the hill in front of them. One of them screamed, “Maker, it’s the end of the world!” Another hushed the one that yelled.

 

Cassandra shoved him forward and started jogging up the path, he followed. And the Breach flared again.

 

He fell to his knees with a pained scream, the pain got worse every time. Cassandra was there in front of him when he opened his eyes again, helping him stand up.

 

“Each time it grows... More demons come.”

 

He winced, the burning was going down, but by the Twelve it _hurt._

 

“What kind of demons do you… face here?”

 

“They are tied to emotions. A Rage demon is a thing of fire and anger. Wraiths are weaker and easy to kill. Shades are stronger than Wraiths, but-”

 

Erevard stood up again, “Keep going, we can talk and run.”

 

“Shades are stronger than Wraiths but still weaker than rage demons.”

 

They reached another small bridge, soldiers were eyeing them, until a green comet landed in the middle of the group. The bridge shattered and he rolled down the debris onto a frozen ravine; another comet followed the first, shooting down in front of them.

 

What came out of the green was a sickly grey creature; half of its face was skull and it wore rags. It roared and Cassandra bolted to it, “Stay behind me!”

 

_This is a demon? Can’t be a rage thing, has to be Wraith or Shade._

 

The ice started bubbling up before him. Black and then… Green. Green crystals shot out of the bubbles, and another demon rose.

 

Although he preferred the Soul of the Paladin, he did not have his weapons. Probably taken by Cassandra’s people when he was found, no doubt. They did not take his Crystals, though. Not that they truly could, they were tied to him much like his own Crystal from Hydaelyn, but still.

 

He called on the Soul of the Warrior, and the Crystal answered.

 

His armour and weapon formed on him. Bravura Zenith, the axe, lit up as he drew it off his back. The demon roared. _Stupid thing._ It lunged for him with its clawed hands; he almost laughed. The demon barely came up to his chest, and it was lunging at him with it’s bare hands?  With a swing from his axe, the demon was cleaved in two. The body became green ashes and fluttered away. He looked up and saw Cassandra was still fighting another one, and he charged it with his body weight. He knocked the demon down with a charge and drove his axe into its head; it too became ash.

 

Cassandra held her sword in his face.

 

“Drop your weapon. NOW.”

 

Erevard did not drop his weapon and blinked at her.

 

She looked him up and down. “Where did you…? How is it _glowing?_ ”

 

“Are you going to get your sword out of my face if I tell you?”

 

She didn’t move.

 

“I have to defend myself, you know. A demon attacked me, I’m not going to just stand there.”

 

“Ugh.” She lowered her weapon and sheathed it, “Fine, but you will explain everything later.”

 

Erevard nodded.

 

* * *

  
  


Varric had seen some shit in his lifetime. Kirkwall was enough excitement, but this? Demons everywhere? _I should never have went with Cassandra… Not like she gave me much choice, but, demons? Shit._

Still, he didn’t think anything could surprise him anymore.

Solas had told him a little about the prisoner - apparently he was quite big. Varric had asked if he was Qunari, Solas shook his head. “You’ll see for yourself. He will waken.”

Suspense didn’t bother him, but he wasn’t prepared for how truly big the guy was.

 

The Seeker and the prisoner - who looked nothing like one, he was in full armour and wielding a giant… flaming axe? Jumped down to help them. The man was absolutely massive - about as tall as a Qunari, and possibly as vicious as one, too, with that axe. He cut down every one of the demons they were fighting, and then finally Varric got a good look at him. Solas grabbed his hand and pointed it towards the rift, and it worked it’s freaky magic.

The man had pink hair, something Varric had never seen before. Did he dye it with something? _Have to ask him later_ . He also had extremely big ears, even bigger than most elves Varric has seen. There was white facial tattoos, too. _Some giant Dalish, maybe?_

 

With a loud CRACK, the rift disappeared. Varric breathed in relief.

 

“What did you do?”

 

Well, that wasn’t what he expected to come out of his mouth. His voice was deep and the accent was nowhere near what most Dalish were like. Hell, it didn’t sound Ferelden or Orlesian or anything he knew.

 

Solas smiled, “I did nothing, the credit is yours.”

 

“You mean the mark.” The larger… elf, looked down at his palm and flexed his fingers.

 

Varric kept looking between the two elves. There’s no way he’s an ordinary elf. Solas was saying something about theories about the mark and the Breach, and then Cassandra cut in.

 

“So it could close the Breach itself…”

 

Solas turned to her, “Possibly.”

 

_Oh, good, possibly!_

 

“And here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” Varric walked towards the large elf, “Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tag-along.” He added a wink towards the Seeker with the ‘unwelcome tag-along’ part.

 

The big elf smiled, “It’s good to meet you, Varric.”

 

Solas stepped towards the man, too, “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still alive.”

 

Varric couldn’t help but add, “He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’”

 

The large man’s eyes widened, “Then I owe you my thanks.”

 

Solas smiled back at him, “Thank me when the Breach is closed.”

 

“Solas is an apostate, and well-versed in these manners.” Cassandra said.

 

The man raised an eyebrow, like he didn’t quite understand.

 

“Technically, all mages are apostates now, Cassandra.” Solas shrugged, “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer-”

 

The axe-wielder coughed and everyone stopped, “I don’t know what an apostate is or what a Fade is, Cassandra… Solas.”

 

Varric laughed. _Oh, this one was going to be interesting._

  


* * *

 

 

Cassandra brought her hand to her face and gave another ‘ugh’. Solas seemed interested.

 

“Are you not from here…? I’m sorry, I never caught your name.”

 

Erevard nodded, “My name is Erevard, and no, I am not. I told Cassandra and Leliana earlier, I am not at all from this world.”

 

Solas frowned, “Interesting. World, you say?”

 

Varric sputtered, “WORLD? How can you be from another world? Seeker, this is fucked up!”

 

Cassandra sneered at the small man, “Not now, dwarf.” _Ah, dwarf! We don’t have those in Eorzea. I wonder why Solas is such a small Elezen, too. I wonder what he is._

 

Varric sighed, “Fine, but I don’t like it. And your name is Erevard?” The dwarf pronounced it poorly, saying it like ‘Air-var-duh’.

 

“‘Air-Uh-Var-D’”.

 

The dwarf gave him a thumbs up. “Never heard that kind of name before, where are you from?”

 

“I’m from... I’m not sure where I’m from? Gridania or Ishgard, I think. I… don’t remember my life before I became a Warrior of Light.”

 

Varric sputtered, “Woah, woah, woah, a what now? You don’t remember your life?”

 

Erevard shook his head, “I don’t think now is an appropriate place to explain all of this, but no I don’t remember where I was born and such. Last memory I have is being in a cart on the way to Gridania. Some people told me they knew me ‘before’ that but I don’t know if I should believe them, and they’re dead now anyway.” There was a gate ahead of them, but burning debris blocked the way. “We should keep moving.”

 

Hopefully, there would be time to continue chatting after the Breach stopped hurling demons at the people here.

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was kinda tough to write. I have been reading a ton of DA:I fics and I will admit - I don't like how the beginning, well, is always the same. I tried to spice it up a bit, though. I also am going to try and include screenshots since we have the awesome /gpose function in FFXIV, so even though the locations aren't always going to match up, it's just visual help for non-FFXIV players every once in a while. :)

Cassandra told the group they needed to get to the forward camp, after Erevard had suggested they keep moving. The man oddly seemed quite focused on the Breach as they walked, Solas did not expect a prisoner thrust into this position to be almost eager to move on. The fact that he was taking initiative over the Seeker was also incredibly curious.

Upon first glance, he did appear to be an elf, but his size discredited that possibility immediately. He bore facial tattoos that were too simple to be Dalish as well, so what did he call himself? When the Seeker had first brought Solas to tend to the man’s ‘Mark’ as the humans were calling it, his first thoughts were that the man resembled his own kind as well. Not the modern elves of today, either, but the People. He knew he had to wait to question him to get real answers, so he did what he could and waited. It took three days for the man to wake, and the constant stream of demons falling from the hole in the Veil, the ‘Breach’ as the humans were calling it too, meant he had to be with the soldiers. They did not have many mages here - much to his own disappointment for too many reasons, and was ordered to fight.

So when the prisoner had joined the skirmish by the rift Solas and Varric were stationed at, clad in completely different armour than he had in the dungeon - and with a massive glowing axe - Solas knew this was going to be more difficult than he initially thought. Especially since the axe actually glowing with a flame that he’d never seen the likes of meant that his initial analysis of him not being a mage must be wrong. Cassandra had asked him if the prisoner was a mage - and he’d said he did not sense any magic on him except the mark on his hand. Even at the moment of him appearing in the fight, he did not sense magic on him. What's more is that he could not find the man within the Fade, too.

Although Solas was trying his hardest not to pry too much from their new, mysterious prisoner, he truly didn’t know what to think when the man had flatly told him he was not from this world. He had at least, hidden his surprise well, and yet there were too many things he wanted- no, needed, to ask this man. He called himself a ‘Warrior of Light’, and said he did not remember who he was before becoming one.

To make matters worse, every time the man did speak to the group, more questions arose. Cassandra and Varric obviously noted the glowing axe as well, and the Seeker asked Solas again what kind of magic may be at work here. She was not very subtle.

“Nothing I have ever seen before. Your prisoner is no mage-“

“Well, not at the moment I’m not. Why is that important?” Erevard said, nonchalantly raising a brow at the group. The others, including Solas, stared mouths gaped at him.

“At the moment? You can’t just… Stop and start being a mage, Spiky!” Varric practically sputtered, and Cassandra groaned at the new nickname already assigned to the man. Solas’ own nickname was unflattering and ridiculous; Spiky must be referring to the man’s hair. Varric, ever the literary genius.

“Explain.” Cassandra added. Solas waited for the explanation as they descended over a frozen lake, and much to his disappointment, the explanation was cut short by the arrival of several demons.

Erevard had already rushed towards the first shade and cleaved it neatly in two before Solas could erect a barrier over him – the man fought recklessly, yet he was faster than any warrior should be. He swung his axe over his head as though it weighed nothing, and drove the weapon into the demons as though he were cutting into paper. Even Varric barely had any time to shoot one of them, Erevard was already cutting down the last one by the time the dwarf was lining up his shot. Cassandra had barely moved and just stared at the man.

"Explain." She repeated, voice strained with irritation.

Erevard looked to her, then their surroundings. He pointed to a stair on the far left of the lake, and started walking towards it. The Seeker growled behind and shouted for the prisoner to stay,

 

Erevard merely shouted to keep moving.

 

When they were all within earshot again, Erevard began his explanation - which again, raised more questions.

 

"I do not stop and start my magic, Varric. Do you not have Soul Crystals…?"

The group did not answer, but Cassandra was sneering at him, “That sounds suspiciously like something a blood mage would use…” Her tone held disdain for ‘Blood mage’. Even though their two worlds were different enough, he could easily assume what a blood mage was capable of. The incidents with Voident and Haukke Manor came to mind easily enough.

Erevard snorted in response, “A blood mage? _Really_?” He dragged out the ‘really’ with annoyance, Cassandra’s sneer only worsened, but he kept talking before she could snap back.

 

“No, I have Soul Crystals that hold memories of past wearers. Currently I hold the Soul of the Warrior, passed down to me from my trainer.” He thought of mentioning the man’s name but stopped short, no doubt they would pester him to explain the meaning of Curious Gorge as a name. Then he would have to explain the Roegadyn people to them, and by how quickly Cassandra connected ‘Soul Crystal’ with blood magic, he no longer wanted to.

 

He quickly decided it might be best to hold his tongue with these people, until he could figure out more of how their world worked. The Breach, however, seemed to disagree and flared – causing his hand to burst with pain again. He could grit his teeth through it and hold his tongue; the pain was lessened this time, thankfully. Solas asked how the flare felt, he answered it wasn’t as bad as when he awoke.

“Good, closing the rifts may be helping your mark stabilize.”

 

Erevard merely nodded as they climbed the winding stair. The occasional body lay across the snow, and of course they ran into more demons not long after.

Once again, he made quick work of them, but he noticed one of the Shade ones were a bit bigger than the others. Were they getting stronger, or was there some sort of subspecies going on?

 

There was more walking to do, sadly more stairs - but Erevard could hear the sounds of soldiers shouting beyond the hill ahead. Cassandra remarked they were nearing the forward camp. Varric asked him what he remembered before finding himself in Thedas, and if he believed he was innocent. Erevard merely said he remembered nothing of how he got here; his last memory was of home. He wasn’t sure if he should recount what he told Cassandra and Leliana.

“That’ll get you every time. Shoulda spun a story!”

“That’s what you would have done.” Cassandra interrupted.

“It’s more believable! And less prone to result in premature execution!” Varric grinned up at Erevard. Cassandra practically growled, “Dwarf…”

“Try spinning a tale when you land in a world you don’t know. Also, is that what Varric is? A Dwarf?”

The ‘dwarf’ laughed softly, “None of us where you’re from, huh?”

Erevard shook his head and once again debated telling them about Lalafells – really the only close comparison he had for them, but refrained. No doubt they wouldn’t believe him if he told them about Papashan the Sultansworn.

“And what do you call yourself, Erevard? Most people would place you as an elf such as I.” Solas had finally spoken. Erevard had noted how quiet the man had been the whole time, probably just listening in. The group still had not explained what an ‘apostate’ was, nor why they had ‘become’ them. What were they before? Was there some faction of mages, something they answered to or were a part of? It didn’t sound flattering, either, so what was Solas?

“I am Elezen, Duskwight specifically. I was wondering why you were so small for an Elezen, Solas.” Varric snorted at Erevard’s response, Solas remained entirely neutral beyond raising a brow at him. Even though his tone betrayed his feelings, the words gave away enough,

“Well, we should speak more about this after we deal with the Breach.”

Polite way to avoid saying he was insulted. “I apologize if I have offended, perhaps we shouldn’t be quick to assume things of each other.” He didn’t have to look at Cassandra, it was absolutely aimed at her and she should’ve picked that up immediately. _Blood mage she says, bah._

They reached another rift at the top of the stair – soldiers were, unsuccessfully, fighting off the demons coming from it. This time, there were green, glowing apparitions. _Must be wraiths_. Varric was winding up to shoot them as well, so they were weak to physical weapons.

Changing crystals during battle was a skill that took him much longer than he cared to admit to master. Estinien was actually the one who recommended it to him when the Dragoon had learned Erevard carried a few of them. Although the two were usually Dragoons together, Erevard had trained with the soul of the Paladin before reaching Ishgard – he had just not mastered it at the time. Estinien pressed him to learn to fight with the two styles – change between battle to throw off the dragons they were fighting. They did not have a fighter who could take hits for Alphinaud or Ysayle, what if the difference between life and death was his shield? So, they practiced and practiced until Erevard could do it flawlessly. It made their journey much more exhausting for him, but it was a skill he came to rely on in the coming years. Estinien, even though he had nothing but the skillset of a Dragoon, was completely right in forcing him to learn it.

_“You have a gift, Erevard. Learn to use it – surprising the fiends may very well pay off. Hells, it would work against any moron who dares challenge you, and you know it. What happens when you return to kill that bastard, Ilberd?”_

It actually had thrown Ilberd off when Erevard had changed to Paladin from Dragoon as they fought. The bastard had actually ran off once Erevard got a hit in on him, too.

Now he just had to pick off the Wraiths quick – and the bow was the perfect tool.

The telltale _swish_ and blue light followed as he pulled the crystal to him, and once his bow had materialized in his hands, he shot with abandon. A single arrow was enough to rid the world of the wraiths, and a few more into the Shades that were wandering towards the soldiers was all that he needed. He looked to Solas then to the rift and threw his hand towards it; green light shot from the rift into his palm, and with a pull, he closed the rift. His hand felt a bit warm, but not painful.

“Well done, the path should be clear.” Solas remarked as he looked down at Erevard’s hand.

“Whatever that thing is on your hand, it’s quite useful. But uh, what the _fuck_ did you just do?” Varric added, and Cassandra ordered the soldiers to open the gate. Solas and Varric stayed for a moment, but Cassandra had already seen him change… Mostly. She didn’t seem to care at the moment. At least she adopted the ‘deal with the sky spitting out demons, ask questions later’ attitude now.

Erevard shrugged, “I’ll explain later. Soul Crystal.”

Behind the gate stood several more soldiers at the ready, all clad in furs resembling the ones back in his dungeon cell. Some glared at him as he passed by, so he kept his eyes forward.

Leliana stood leaned over a table with maps strewn across, next to an older man wearing white robes. He could hear shouting as they approached, and Cassandra took the lead.

“We must prepare the soldiers!”

“We will do no such thing!”

“The prisoner must get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes! It is our only chance!” Leliana was shouting back at the man, Erevard had a sinking feeling about him.

“You have already caused enough trouble without resorting to this exercise in futility!” The man barked back, not even looking up at her. His eyes were closed tight and his hand rubbed his temple.

“ _I_ have caused trouble?” Leliana crossed her arms over her chest – this was not going to end well.

“You, Cassandra, the Most Holy! Haven’t you all done enough already?”

That did it. Leliana barked back at him with venom in her voice, “ _You_ are not in command here.”

Thankfully, they both looked up when Cassandra finally reached them. Leliana raised a brow at Erevard and looked at Cassandra as if asking ‘What the hell’. Cassandra shrugged.

The man spoke first, “Ah, here they come.” He did not sound very happy to see them. Erevard braced himself for stupidity to come from his mouth. He knew this type of man already, dealt with enough people like him. The robes were that of someone who reminded him of the inquisitors of the Holy See. If he had to _ever_ deal with another of them, it was too soon.

Leliana stepped ahead of the man and smiled at Cassandra, “You made it!” She turned back to the man and her expression immediately hardened, as did her tone, “Chancellor Roderick, this is-”

The ‘Chancellor’ cut her off immediately, “I know who he is.” All eyes fell on Erevard. He groaned out loud, but no one seemed to react.

“As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!” He stared down Cassandra.

_Oh yeah, exactly like the inquisitors. Fan-tas-tic._ Erevard suppressed another groan, if this was the Holy See he could wave the idiot off and leave; but he wasn’t home. Best to always try to keep that thought at the back of his head, especially since the man just ordered his execution. They were welcome to try, but he wouldn’t go with them peacefully.

Thankfully, Cassandra was having none of it. “ORDER ME? You are a glorified clerk! A bureaucrat!”

“And you are a thug, but a thug that serves the Chantry!”

Leliana came to Cassandra’s defense as well, “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor… As you well know.”

Still, the man was having none of it. “Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement, and obey _her_ orders on the matter!”

Erevard took note on the ‘her’ part. So their leader was always a woman. He’d file that away for later. But first, “So none of you are actually in charge here?” Everyone looked at him again, then to Roderick’s reaction, which was to sneer at him and snap.

“You killed everyone who was in charge!”

Cassandra stepped forward and looked down at the maps, then back to Roderick. “Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.” His voice had softened and Erevard briefly wondered why. They were losing lives out here, that was sure, so did Roderick think it was time to give up to save the soldiers?

“We can stop this before it’s too late.” Cassandra looked up to the hole in the sky, then back to Erevard.

“How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers.”

“We must get to the temple, it’s the quickest route to the Breach itself.”

“But not the safest, our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.” Leliana added.

Cassandra shook her head sadly, “We lost contact with an entire squad on that path. It’s too risky.”

“Listen to me!” Roderick pleaded, “Abandon this now before more lives are lost.”

Well, maybe he wasn’t entirely like the inquisitors. Still, the man had arrogance to him.

The Breach roared and flared again, and with it, Erevard’s hand flickered with pain. He looked down and had to hold his wrist and bite down on his lip, his hand spasmed with it. When he looked back up, Cassandra was staring him down.

“How do you think we should proceed?”

Erevard frowned. “You’re seriously asking me?”

“You have the mark.” Solas spoke behind him, and Cassandra nodded. “You are the one we must keep alive, and since we cannot agree by ourselves…”

He looked up at the great tear in their sky. Great meteors of fire rained down, and he knew that each time one of those landed – demons came from the remains and killed more and more people. “I saw we charge. We need to close that thing _now,_ before you lose more soldiers. Call everyone in.”

Roderick grunted, “Well, at least we agree on one thing. On your head be the consequences, Seeker.”

Cassandra shook her head and told Leliana to bring everyone from the valley for the charge, and then they marched down the bridge to the temple. There was more trudging through snow, but he could see a clear enough path to the top of the mountain. Injured soldiers lined the steps into what must have been the entrance to what remained of the temple. If there was time, he would stop to heal them.

He was going to ask, but they came upon yet another rift. They dropped into a clearing where the rift floated, and Shades battled soldiers. A Shade raked its clawed hand across the chest of a soldier wearing little more than leathers, and the man fell to the ground immediately – blood coating where the claws had ripped his chest.

Erevard cried out.

* * *

  


Cassandra heard that swishing noise again, meaning Erevard had just used his ‘crystals’ to… Change whatever he was, into something else. The man had yelled when the soldier had fallen before them and changed. Cassandra briefly wondered if he was not used to seeing people die – until a white light enveloped the dying soldier.

She blinked and turned around; Erevard was now clad in white robes, silver patterns accented his chest and it was trimmed with red, and carried a staff of pure white wood. A plethora of coloured feathers sprouted from the top of the staff, and at the middle of the staff a dark blue crystal lay embedded in it. She had never seen robes as intricate as this, nor a weapon. There even seemed to be some type of metal covering parts of the staff.

His hands were glowing, as was the staff, and she knew he was winding up another spell. There were two glowing… butterflies? Dancing around the staff as well - and a green glow circled him. _More questions for later._ She whirled back to the Shade about to swipe at the soldier, before a blast of wind actually _shred_ apart the demon. Before she could even finish drawing her own weapons, Erevard had dashed in front of her and knelt by the soldier. The white light had not left him, but now turned a deep blue. She could not see the man’s wounds with Erevard blocking her vision, but now was not the time to watch this. Up ahead, she could see Cullen’s signature cloak, and he was fighting the demons as well.

The other two, thankfully, had reacted with her. She felt Solas’ barrier materialize on her as she rushed towards the next demon. She held her shield at the ready as she made long, arcing slashes on the back of the shade while it was focused on the nearest soldier. The monster cried out and swirled to meet her, before an arrow landed in its chest – it fell and turned to ash before her, and she repeated the same with the other demons. Cullen looked over his shoulder as she raced to him, holding his shield up in front of his face as the Terror demon he was fighting slammed its fists down on it. “Cassandra, they keep coming!”

“I know! The prisoner can-”

She heard the sound of the rift dispersing behind her and spun to see Erevard lowering his hand. The Shade Cullen was fighting died and became ash as well. Solas and Varric had jogged up to stand at his side, and Erevard shook his head at the apostate, “By the Twelve, what was that other thing?” His voice was shaken and he rubbed at his eyes.

“Terror demon, they are not pleasant to fight. You are becoming quite proficient with this, though.” Solas said, matter of factly. Cassandra hadn’t considered how Erevard would react to demons, if he wasn’t from here. Each of them were seasoned fighters… He’d never experienced this, from what she gathered.

“Well let’s hope it works on the big one, then.” Varric chimed in with.

“Lady Cassandra?” Cullen had wandered over, and Cassandra had moved to meet him ahead of the group. She noted he had some dents in his armor, and was missing an armbrace. “You managed to close the rift? Well done.”

She shook her head and turned back to Erevard, “Do not congratulate me, Commander. This is the prisoner’s doing.” Except, something was clearly wrong with Erevard.

He was staring directly at Cullen, but something was off about his eyes, and he did not move. She called his name, but no answer. His pupils were much larger than normal, and he didn’t seem like he was quite _there._

Cullen didn’t seem to notice and only gave the man a glance, “Is it? I hope they’re right about you, we lost a lot of people getting… you… here…?” Well, now he definitely noticed. He cleared his throat then looked at Cassandra as if asking, ‘what is happening?’

Erevard shook his head and blinked rapidly suddenly, “Your soldiers found me when I fell out of a rift.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow at him and looked worried, “Yes? How did you-”

Erevard waved a hand in dismissal, “I’ll explain later. This is the Commander of your forces, I take it? Cassandra nodded.

She had asked him to explain before, but he had urged her to push forward. She wasn’t entirely convinced of his innocence yet, but the fact he was absolutely determined to get to the Breach as soon as possible was slowly… changing her mind. However, what if he was guilty and just truly didn’t remember it? Could they execute a man who did not remember his crime? Could she let that happen? There was no way he was lying, it was obvious he was not at all from their world with the magic he wielded- She had completely forgotten to check on the soldier.

She whirled around to where the man had fallen, only to see no one there now. There was a hand on her shoulder and she met Erevard’s eyes, “I sent him back with another soldier, he’s fine. I made sure.”

Cassandra did not know what to say to him. He was capable of healing that wound, that quickly? Even the most seasoned spirit healers couldn’t-

Cullen cleared his throat, loudly, “Pardon me, Lady Cassandra, but I’m… Sure my questions can wait until later, and I… Have quite a few.” He tilted his head at Erevard and his eyes locked on the staff, “The way to the temple should be clear,” He pointed towards another drop up ahead, “Leliana will try to meet you there.”

Cassandra nodded, “Then we’d best move quickly. Give us time, Commander.”

The soldiers seemed to have heard her and started running to the back of the clearing for the charge, Cullen locked eyes with the prisoner and spoke low, “Maker watch all of you, for all our sakes.”

Erevard watched Cullen run towards a soldier who was hobbling on a bleeding leg, and help the man walk. A weak smile tugged at his lips. Cassandra still wasn’t entirely sure what to think of this man; could he truly be guilty?

She turned and started walking forward – into the Temple.

 

* * *

 

Erevard hopped down and the rest followed, and the smell was the first thing that hit him. Burnt rock and flesh. The source of the burning flesh lay before him, remnants of the inhabitants of the Temple, little more than charred corpses, kneeling in various positions trying to protect themselves from the blast’s origin point. What had they seen, before the blast had taken their lives?

Solas spoke softly, announcing their surroundings, “The Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“What’s left of it…” Varric mumbled, eyes locked on a body nearby. Flame flickered still on it, despite the snow and wind.

Cassandra was staring ahead, “That…” She pointed forward, “Is where you walked out of the Fade, and our soldiers found you. They say a woman was behind you in the rift. No one knows who she was.”

Erevard’s eyes shot towards the Seeker immediately, frantic, “A woman? Could it be Alisaie? What did she look like, how tall, was she-”

The Seeker shook her head sadly, “I do not know, I am sorry, Erevard.”

His heart sank. What if she was behind a rift somewhere, in this ‘Fade’? Did the other Scions end up here, too? If any of them would be able to figure out how to get home, it would be Urianger. New goal: find the Scions, no matter what.

For now, he would close the Breach, and then set off to find them.

“Let’s… Let’s go.”

It didn’t take long for Leliana to find them, accompanying her were more soldiers, mostly archers. She too, carried a bow on her back. Cassandra told her to have her men set up a perimeter around the area, but Erevard focused on the massive rift ahead.

It was much larger than the others, at least three times the size. Green tendrils flowed upward into the sky from it, and he could make out… Red… Crystals? At the base of it, they glowed eerily, and something about them felt _wrong._

Varric, behind them remarked about how far up the Breach was. Cassandra stepped in front of Erevard, “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

He looked from her to the Breach in the sky, “I’m assuming you have a plan to get me up there, then?”

“No. This rift was the first, and it is the key.” Solas spoke, “Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

“Then let’s find a way down, and be careful.” Cassandra addressed their little group and the soldiers already setting up around the area. Before Erevard had taken a step towards descending to the rift, a booming voice rang out.

**“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”**

“What are we hearing…?”

“At a guess: the person who created the Breach.” Solas added grimly.

Erevard did not recognize that voice, and it seemed none of them did. At the very least, maybe this would help convince them it wasn’t him at all.

There was a winding pathway they could take that wasn’t entirely littered in rubble, but there were those strange glowing crystals along the walls. As he got closer, he could see a strange mist emanating from them. Each step he took closer to them, he felt more and more ill, like his stomach was churning and his chest tightened.

“You know this stuff is red Lyrium, Seeker…”

“I see it, Varric.”

“But what’s it doing _here?”_

“Magic could have drawn on the Lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it…” Solas didn’t sound quite convinced of his theory.

“Pah! It’s evil. Whatever you do, don’t touch it!”

Erevard quickly stepped away from it after the warning, “I take it that’s not what ‘Lyrium’ is supposed to look like…”

Varric shook his head, “No, not at all, Spiky. We’ll explain later.”

Erevard didn’t want to tell them there wouldn’t be a later, but that voice rang out again.

**“Keep the sacrifice still.”** There was a hint of arrogance, of smugness, to the voice.

Then, a woman’s joined it. **“Someone! Help me!”**

Erevard flinched at it, knowing that he could not answer that plea made him uncomfortable. He was listening to a dead woman’s final cries. Cassandra’s next words didn’t help, either, “That is Divine Justinia’s voice!” She sounded like she was hearing a long lost friend’s voice again – they must have been close.

Erevard found a ledge he could comfortably jump down from, the soldiers with swords and shields had set up by it as well.

When he landed, the woman’s voice cried out again, and his hand flared with it.

**“Someone, help me!”**

**“Damn it all! What’s going on here?!”**

He froze.

Cassandra swiveled and glared at him, “That was YOUR voice! Most Holy called out to you, but…”

That _was_ _not_ his voice. That was Fray. How in the seven hells was he going to explain _Fray_ to them? He knew they would hear his voice, but he always heard the man who Fray was, never himself. They had already decided he destroyed some sacred temple and the – what he guessed was – equivalent to their Archbishop, what the hells would they think of him if he told them of a living embodiment of Darkness living within him?

His hand flickered again, and this time it hurt. He looked up at the rift, and a misty, distorted image appeared. A shadowy figure with glowing, red eyes and long, clawed hands floated above them. An elderly woman hung helplessly before the monster, clad in similar robes to Roderick. That had to be Justinia. Her eyes were full of terror as she stared down the shadow monster. And then in the middle of them, emerged himself- no, Fray, from a blue portal. There was no doubting it now, as he was clad in his Abyss armor from the Dark Knight soul. How in the hells had Fray changed his Soul Crystal and taken over, without him knowing?

The same voice rang out, just as before; **“Damn it all! What’s going on here?!”**

**“Run while you can! Warn them!”** The scene continued, with the woman pleading at him.

The shadowy figure turned towards Fray, **“We have an intruder, kill him, now!”** A long, gangly clawed hand pointed towards Fray, and then the Breach flared with a blinding green light.

Erevard rubbed at his eyes from the flash, but Cassandra had already started yelling at him, “You _were_ there! Who attacked?! And the Divine! Is she…? Was this vision true?! What are we seeing!” The last part was addressed to Solas, who merely shook his head,

“Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place. I believe that with the Mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However… Opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

Cassandra frowned and looked from Erevard to the rift, “That means demons! Stand ready!”

The soldiers moved in closer, and the archers surrounding the area drew their arrows, ready to fire, even Leliana readied herself.

Erevard stepped forward and looked to Cassandra for the signal to go, she nodded and drew her weapons, and then he threw his palm forward.

This time, he did not need to pull with his own hand – the rift actually knocked him backward before he could do anything to it, and with the rift, a massive scaled demon came through. It roared as it manifested from a surge of green light, it’s skin covered in hardened grey scales, and black horns on it’s head and elbows. It had several black eyes and four, long clawed fingers. Cassandra shouted, “Now!” and the archers let fly their arrows – it only irritated the beast, it whipped them away with it’s hand and roared again.

It was easily as big as a Syricta, and quite similar. Minus the eyes of course, but the build? Almost identical. Which means he could probably fight the damned thing like a dragon.

_Swish._

He bent his knees for his jump, but noticed the thing had actually whipped lightning at Cassandra. She had barely held up her shield in time to take the hit, and her knees buckled just a bit under the impact. The thing had actually _laughed_ at her, too. Something about that laugh bothered him, it was an absolute monster – but the fact it was laughing at trying to kill them? _Too much like a Voidsent,_ he scoffed. He was full glad now that he was clad in his Drachen armor, he could take a hit from Lightning in it if need be.

With that last thought, he leapt into the air, as high as the rift was and held his spear to his side, then swung his body with it to the right – then pushed himself forward, aiming his spear at the beast’s head. It didn’t even seem to register an attack from the air; it never even noticed him as he drove his spear into the back of its head. However, it wasn’t a killing blow. The scales were tougher than he thought, and the monster _screamed_ and grabbed his spear with one hand, and the other trying to grab at Erevard. He leapt off the back of its head, but didn’t dislodge his spear in time.

_Swish._

The spear evaporated with blue light as he changed again, this time to Dark Knight. Better to get that outfit change out of the way. Get them to see him in it so they wouldn’t ask too many questions.

Thankfully, he could finish this thing off without using too many Dark Knight abilities – that would really convince them of the whole blood mage idea if he did too much. The monster had turned its attention back at Cassandra – who was readying to take another hit of lightning. He took a deep breath before plunging towards the monster, swung greatsword over his head and brought it down as he neared the monster. The sword lodged in its left leg, and he pulled upward. It did not cut as deep as he hoped, the scales were truly harder than he thought, but it did split open where he cut. The thing roared in pain and turned to him, claws raised to swipe at him. He raised the hilt above his shoulder and thrust into the open wound before it could move its wounded leg, and it fell with another scream. This time, he aimed for its head – he dove at its neck and slashed below its chin, and there was no scream this time as the thing fell forward, dead. It too, became ash, just as the other demons.

He should not have been tired from this, but he couldn’t help falling to his knees. Cassandra shouted for him to close the rift before more demons came, and he used the last of his strength to stand and raise his hand. The rift answered, the green light connected with his palm and the rift – and there was another explosion of light, before everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Tips are welcome and appreciated if ya got any! And again - if anyone is unclear on anything feel free to ask.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erevard awakens in Haven after the attempt on the Breach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All from Erevard's POV. I tend to write these in Google Docs and I notice that sometimes when I import it to AO3 - it doesn't keep some of the formatting and the lines I put to signify a change in POV. I may go back and edit that in Chapter 2, I noticed there's one missing. Really sorry if any others get through. Also, trying a shorter chapter as I feel I'm still not over the... 'hump' I guess, of the prologue. Almost done though!

The sounds of a busy town woke him. People shouting, animals joining them, and just general sounds of moving about and living.

There was barely any time to take in his surroundings before a small woman entered the room. She gasped and dropped the crate she was carrying when Erevard bolted up- he looked down to where exactly he was sitting up from; a bed.

The woman was in a panic when he locked eyes with her, and she rushed her words as she backed up from him, “I-I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!”

Erevard blinked a few times, having no real clue on how to actually soothe someone. “Don’t… worry about it, I-”

Well, he thought it was a good attempt up until she threw herself to the floor and begged for forgiveness, as she was ‘a humble servant’. The poor woman did not even meet his eyes, she kept her head down and low. “You are in Haven, my lord. They say you saved us! The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand!”

My lord? The Breach… stopped?

He looked down at his hand, and while it was not hurting at the moment - that awful green light across his palm was there. There was a bit of grasping and mental gear-turning so to speak, but he did remember much of closing the Breach - except after he must have passed out. The first thing he thought back to was the talk of putting him on trial, and yet, this woman had just called him ‘lord’. “So, is there going to be a trial now?”

The woman shook her head, still bowed low, “I don’t know anything about that…” She rose, and finally looked up at him, but resumed backing away in fear. “I’m… I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve awoken! She said, ‘at once’!”

He couldn’t help but wonder what made this woman so afraid, and why exactly she was a servant resigned to being so fearful. There were many questions for Cassandra. “Where is she?” He asked.

“In the Chantry, with the lord Chancellor! ‘At once’ she said!” The woman ran to the door and out in a flash, and Erevard was left alone.

Well, that was… something.

At least he could look around the room now and assess what was going on.

Much to his surprise, he was out of his armour, first of all. He was wearing a plain beige woolen shirt that seemed to have been hastily stitched together - no doubt because of his size, they didn’t have anything on hand for him. His leggings were much the same but a brown leather, and a bit loose on him. Second, it was neatly placed on a stand across the room. Whoever had gotten him out of it deserved praise for figuring out how exactly all of that fit together and came off, considering the soldier’s attire he’d seen. With a glance towards the desk nearby, he noticed some papers that looked very much like notes.

Sadly, there was no making out what was written. Their written language seemed entirely different to Eorzean writing. It was a lucky coincidence their spoken language was the same. The rest of the room really didn’t have much to it beyond a chest, some chairs and another table that was round in the corner, some odd paintings of landscapes he didn’t recognize some glass bottles that were empty, and things that just generally would belong in a lodging. Shelves, books, and so on.

If he was to be a prisoner and put on trial, why would they put him in such a room? He looked to the window but couldn’t make much out of it, it seemed he was stuffed in a cabin that was tucked between a small cliffside.

What would the Breach look like now?

Next thing to investigate - outside.

Although he’d thank… whoever dressed him, he had no desire to be in this with how much snow was actually around the area. He switched quickly back to Paladin, even though his sword and shield were still nowhere nearby and didn’t form with him. That was the first thing he was going to speak with Cassandra about.

There was also one last thing about his surroundings… The sounds outside had stopped. He frowned. Either the elf girl had alerted everyone he was awake and the trial was actually going to happen, or maybe people had fled the area? He flung the door open and really wasn’t prepared for what was actually going on.

Because of circumstances throwing him into the middle of a battle against demons falling from a hole in the sky, he had never seen the village they’d pulled him out into from the dungeon. He did not see how many civilians were living here, only soldiers. Before him ahead of a crowd of civilians stood two armored guards, holding their hands over their chests and their heads bowed. There were more lining a pathway, keeping the people away, but all stood and stared at him. Thankfully, he remembered where he’d come from and had to guess that ‘the Chantry’ was where they drug him up from. That was logical enough, considering it looked like a chapel and they kept referring to ‘The Chantry’ as a religious power. It would be up the hill, but he would be walking through all these people that had…Well, last he was here the few people he did see looked at him with hate.

Now, he heard whispers and saw smiles upon their faces. Some stared with wide, open eyes and others lowered their heads to bow.

This wasn’t something entirely new to him, he would expect this crap in Eorzea from time to time depending where he went, but to go from accused murderer to whatever was happening here? Well… That was new.

He began the trek up to the Chantry, and while it wasn’t far, it wasn’t comfortable.

“That’s him… That’s the Herald of Andraste. They say when he came out of the Fade, Andraste herself was watching over him.” A man had spoken as he passed by to someone else, quite loudly. Erevard had no idea who or what Andraste was to these people, but it seemed like she was important enough if they called him a ‘Herald’ of her.

This made his stomach sink. He was already Warrior of Light to Eorzea and chosen of Hydaelyn, now they were going to give him another title, and have him be some chosen warrior of someone else. A woman hushed the man who had spoken, saying not to ‘disturb him’. Well, Erevard liked her already.

Another man spoke as he passed and this was becoming an annoying walk, “Why did Lady Cassandra have him in chains? I thought Seekers knew everything.” Erevard actually didn’t suppress the groan that escaped him. He picked up his pace when he heard the second man shout ‘Andraste herself blessed him!’ Gods, this was going to be terrible.

A woman said something about him closing the Breach, and this time, he whirled around to actually look up at the damn thing.

It was still very much there. In all it’s sickly green glory, but not spitting out demons and flaring. It was just… There. Another woman said he should’ve closed it entirely, he stomped off.

He was supposed to close it, and then go find his friends. Could he leave this world with a gaping hole in the sky and demons ready to fly back down? Could he even leave? More questions to throw at Cassandra and Leliana… And whoever else was in charge. Maybe he could ask Solas, too.

The Chapel at the top of the hill was crowded with a group of women in attire resembling Roderick’s, as he pushed the doors open one of them muttered something about the Chantry wanting nothing to do with them, per Roderick’s orders. Lovely man, isn’t he? Spinning the charge towards saving lives quicker at least helped against the man earlier, if he had to keep speaking to him he could maybe pull that off again. Maybe.

The Chapel was completely empty and much warmer than it was outside, he closed the doors behind him just incase and looked around. There were candles all over the floor and barrels all over the place, of what, he had no idea. The place looked pretty shoddy, all things considered. The drapes and flags around the room were a deep red with what looked like a white sun in the middle. Was this the ‘Chantry’s’ symbol? There wasn’t much time to ponder that - he heard shouting down the hall and behind a door, and sadly, it was Roderick.

“Have you gone completely mad?! He should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine!”

“I do not believe he is guilty”. Cassandra answered him, bluntly.

“He failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky! For all you know, he intended it this way!”

“I do NOT believe that!”

“That is not for you to decide! Your duty is to serve the Chantry!”

With that, Erevard had enough and threw open the door.

Two armored men stood to each of his sides, and ahead of him around a table with many maps strewn across; Leliana, Cassandra and Roderick.

All eyes were on him, and Roderick was the first to bark an order to have him chained and brought to Val Royeaux.

Cassandra sneered and ordered the armored men to disregard Roderick’s demand and leave. The door closed shut behind them.

Roderick didn’t like that, “You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

Cassandra was still having none of the Chancellor’s attitude and walked up to him, eyeing him down angrily, “The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”

There was a pause as they looked to him, and for some reason that angered Erevard, “Let me guess, you need my help. Again.”

Roderick, of course, spat back at him, “You have done plenty! The Chantry will decide-”

“Have a care, Chancellor.” Cassandra said, obviously biting back her temper, “The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

Leliana joined them, “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others - or have allies who yet live.” Her gaze hardened on Roderick, and the man’s eyes widened in shock.   
“I am a suspect?!”

Leliana did not relent, “You, and many others!”

“But not the prisoner!”

Erevard scoffed, “You deflect like a professional.” It earned him a sneer and before the man could open his mouth again, Cassandra spoke.

“I heard the voices in the Temple. The Divine called to him for help!”

“So his survival, that THING on his hand - all a coincidence?” Roderick crossed his arms over his chest in annoyance.

“Providence. The Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour.”

That was not what he wanted to hear. “Oh no, I am not sent by anyone other than Hydaelyn, and certainly not here. You wanted me dead a few minutes ago and now-”

Cassandra merely shook her head, “Perhaps I was wrong.” She stepped away towards a shelf behind them, and Leliana spoke now.

“The Breach remains, and your mark is still our only hope of closing it.”

“This is NOT for you to decide!” Roderick’s barking was interrupted by Cassandra dropping an immense book onto the table, bearing that same sun and red around the Chapel.

She placed a finger on the book, pointing down at it, “You know what this is, Chancellor.” She held her chin high as she spoke at him, “A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible and we will restore order. With, or without your approval!” During her speech, she had practically backed the man into a corner, and thankfully unlike a cornered animal, he knew he’d lost and left silently.

Leliana strode to the book and spoke to Erevard, “This is the Divine’s directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice,” Cassandra continued, “We must act now. With you at our side.”

He felt sick. He was going to be sick. He was sick. What was happening? “And what if I refuse?”

He thought of home. Of the Scions. The Alliance. The Garleans. The Primals. His friends. Could he afford to even stay here? If there was no other way to return home, he would gladly stay at their side to prevent more of those demons, but if he could return…

Cassandra’s face dropped and Leliana’s did as well. Leliana answered first, “Then you may go. But many still believe you are guilty, and the Inquisition can protect you. If you stay with us.”

“I… I need to think. I need to go home. I should- I should’ve gone already. I am in the middle of a war, Leliana, Cassandra. This needs to be done fast, and then I need to go.”

They looked to each other, uncomfortably, before nodding to him. Cassandra stretched out her hand to him, “Help us fix this, before it is too late. We will do what we can to get you home, Erevard.”

The last time he had felt this unsure and uneasy, it was his first time staring down a Primal. He took her hand and shook and knew he wasn’t going to be a happy man in the coming days.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erevard pesters people for answers. Leliana's attempt at confrontation falls flat; Erevard reveals what he really is to the advisors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not going to lie, the E3 Shadowbringers REALLY threw a wrench in my story for later with the Solus lore bomb... I'm a bit lost as to how I'm going to have to change stuff up or just keep going with it. I stress that this was written before 4.55 but I may try to include some Shadowbringers stuff once the expansion drops and we see what's actually going on. Still, not 100% decided on it.

Solas had never done so much lying, deflecting and avoiding in his long life.

 

Shortly after Erevard was introduced as the Inquisition's 'Herald of Andraste', and the following ceremony - the man had run straight to Solas to bombard him with questions.

 

The leaders had told Erevard to speak with Solas with regards on getting him back home, and much to his own disappointment, he didn't need to lie about that. He truly had no idea if he could go home, nor even how to begin the process of finding out if he could send him. The man was completely invisible in the Fade, yet when Solas asked if he dreamed - he gave him a look that said, "Are you stupid?"

 

If he could not use the Fade to send him home, _what_ could he use?

 

When they finished discussing the impossibility of him going back to Eorzea, Erevard became pensive for but a few moments. Then, he launched into dozens of questions about Thedas.

 

"What is the Fade? Why do demons live there? What else lives there? What does it look like? How do you get to it? Why is going to the Fade a bad idea? What's Tevinter? What's a Magister? What is a Darkspawn?"

 

The worst questions were about 'the Maker'. Solas explained he was not the one to ask; to go to Cassandra or Leliana - even the Commander would be better than he. Erevard kept pressing, so Solas recounted some of the Human beliefs of the Maker abandoning his children. Oddly, _this_ seemed to irritate the man. Solas wondered if he was deeply religious back on his world, but when pressed why he seemed unhappy, he only shook his head. There were still some questions the man refused to answer. What kind of Gods do they worship in his world that he could feel anger towards another?

 

Questioning the man proved to be extremely tiresome and grated his nerves. When asked when he learned he could perform magic, again he was given that same look and told it wasn't an issue of 'when' he grew into it. It was _when_ he decided to learn it. After a series of questions where - admittedly, Solas _was_ using Thedas as his reference point - Erevard told him to stop asking.

 

"You need to stop using _your_ world to understand _mine_ ." Erevard got up and left the cabin immediately after. His tone said _disappointment._

 

He'd never felt _verbally slapped_ before.

 

The offworlder proved to be smarter than Solas had initially hoped, and that could complicate things down the line. To make matters _more_ complicated, could he dispose of this man when the time came? Here was a man from another world entirely, where, supposedly

anyone could use magic. A world which Solas longed for - would _die_ to reclaim if he must - and another existed somewhere out there. Could Solas come to Eorzea? How long has he walked in dreams and the Fade, exploring this world? How long would it take him to see the same amount of knowledge here in Eorzea?

 

Erevard raised too many questions, Solas wasn't yet sure if he saw this as a challenge or a real problem.

 

* * *

 

Morale had improved greatly with the troops since formally announcing Erevard's 'Herald' status.

 

It was the morning of the day after the announcement, and Cullen was already hearing murmurs of 'for the Herald' among the troops. While this would need to be tempered into 'for the Inquisition' later, it was a good thing. There is a difference in training men with a cause.

 

However, Cullen wasn't entirely convinced he was what they said. A strange offworlder - sent by Andraste herself? The offworlder part was already enough, why did they need to throw in divine intervention too? According to Cassandra, the man was rather vehement of his status as 'Warrior of Light' back home, but _what_ did that mean? It sounded rather cliche, really.

 

Still, he _was_ exactly what they needed.

 

He hadn't actually spoken with the man since their quick - and very awkward - meeting at the Temple. They were to have a meeting in the evening where Leliana planned to _question_ (Cullen knew this meant corner and interrogate) Erevard over… well, everything. They’d had a quick meeting with Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana, Solas and Varric to go over what little they did hear from the man - and what the plan was to talk to him about it - while he was recovering after the attempt to close the Breach. Basically, it was a nicer way to say interrogate the man.

 

The three that formed the group with him laid out what they had seen: he can ‘change’ his armour and abilities with something called ‘Soul Crystals’ - and it seemed they were common on his world as he asked if they had them here. He called himself ‘Warrior of Light’ of his world. He had a _glowing_ axe earlier, despite having no discernable magic. He could also _become_ a mage with the crystals. (Cullen also learned Varric had assigned him a ridiculous name, too. At least he wasn’t the only one who got one about their hair.)

 

The magic part got him worried, too. He would have to assign a Templar as one of his guards when it was necessary. Cullen had not seen it, but Cassandra had just barely witnessed Erevard heal a man from near death. It happened so quickly, she had missed most of it - but she recalled a light enveloping the dying soldier before Erevard had rushed to him, then it turned blue. It had been when they found Cullen and his soldiers dealing with the rift by the Temple, so Cullen had entirely missed it during his battle with a Terror demon.

 

Erevard also said he was something called an Elezen, ‘Duskwight’ specifically. Perhaps it was like city elves and Dalish elves? And finally - the fact that he _was_ at the Temple before the explosion. The Divine had called out to him after he appeared out of a portal, and something was holding her hostage. Cullen wished he’d seen it himself. Even though he trusted Cassandra, this was just a bit too much for him.

 

And to make matters worse, Erevard had arrived outside the gates to speak with him.

 

Cullen was in the middle of yelling at some recruit who didn’t know his elbow from his shield, when he heard the man’s voice practically boom behind him. “Commander? May we speak?”

 

Cullen whirled to face him, and finally got a good look at him actually standing. The man _was huge_ , easily as tall as a Qunari. He had to bite back a shiver, the reminder of Kirkwall and Qunari wasn’t expected. He was also back in the armour the scouting group had found him in at the Temple - though the last he saw of him before this he was in his healer robes that he magically could change to. The hair was still that weird pink colour, though now that he was actually _looking_ he could see white strands peppering his hair. He didn’t appear very old - and come to think of it, he had no idea what age he could guess this man was. Did ‘Elezen’ age differently, too? Not really something he should ask, anyway. Finally, he hadn’t really paid any attention to the scars on the man’s face. He had several smaller ones, but two stood out the most - one a straight line across the bridge of his nose to his cheek, and the other on the right side of his jaw. Probably a scar leftover from a nasty sword cut, and another was visible on his forehead underneath his wild hair, just barely showing from under his bangs.

 

Bright, icy blue eyes narrowed and Erevard had raised an eyebrow at him, and Cullen snapped out of _staring_ at the man. “I-I- Of course! What do you wish to speak about, Herald?”

 

The man crossed his arms over his chest, “I spoke with Solas yesterday about… Well, as much as I could ask the man about the Fade and Mages and such. I was told to question you about Templars as you are one. All I know is that the Templars are tied to the Chantry and Solas didn’t seem too happy to speak about it.”

 

“I am a Templar no longer. Moreso now that the Chantry has lost control of both the Mages and the Templars.”

 

His eyebrow went back up and the ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips, “Oh, so you can _stop_ being a Templar? Varric seemed so confused when I said I could stop being a mage.”

 

Cullen wasn’t sure whether to laugh, so he forced a smile back at him, “Well, it’s a bit more complicated than... that, but yes, I was a Templar. Solas was right to send you to me for questions.” Out of the corner of his eye, that same recruit was still fumbling with his damned shield, “There’s a shield in your hand, block with it!” With a heavy sigh he returned to Erevard, who suggested going somewhere with less distractions. The lieutenants were left in charge of drills until Cullen would return. Although he normally wouldn’t abandon work like this, he’d needed to start promoting and seeing who could handle what. The Inquisition was already receiving applicants to the army - it was impossible it would stay small enough for him to do all the overseeing.

 

They walked in silence towards the frozen lake, and started running through what he would consider the basics: beginning with a Templar’s abilities. He would inevitably leave Haven and encounter rogue Templars - it was for the best he is aware of what they can do in combat. Particularly as the man was a melee fighter… Mostly?

 

When he got to explaining Circles and their roles, Erevard did not hide his look of disgust. Although Cullen was not a Templar any longer, this part was starting to become exasperating to him. That look was nothing new, and he would probably have to endure it for the rest of his life. The meeting would be difficult when they would raise the possibility of appealing to Templars and the Mages. Still, there was something unsettling about a man from another world giving him that look. What was it like in Eorzea, then, if he did not approve of this? Were there abominations and blood mages? Were there Circles, a Chantry and so on?

 

“You keep Mages locked in what sounds like a glorified prison, with ‘guards’ who possess abilities to render them helpless and diffuse their magic. Because the Chantry says they cannot be trusted to control themselves. Demons may possess weak-willed Mages and turn them into… Abominations. So the Chantry sets up Circles and Templars are the jailers. Templars are given Lyrium and that gives them their abilities. And they throw _children_ into these Circles.”

Disgust poured from his words as he spoke with a scowl, “And you tell me this is to _protect_ them?”

 

Their first conversation together as partners in the Inquisition, and Cullen already got the man to dislike him. Things were going swimmingly! He rubbed at the back of his neck and looked away, anything to ignore that look from the larger man, “It, uh, is… Complicated.” Was it even worth trying to justify the necessity of the Templars? Cullen himself had seen horrors from both sides - could he really convince the offworlder? The worst part was he didn’t even cover _Tranquility_ yet. The question was, should he? That would just enrage the man even more, even Cullen struggled with it.

 

Erevard shook his head sadly, “I think I have heard enough. Thank you for your time, Commander.” With a small bow of his head the man sauntered back towards the gates without another word, leaving Cullen at the lake.

 

He wasn’t sure what he expected of their conversation, but being dismissed was preferable to being subjected to more questions when the man was already angry. _What a wonderful impression you’ve made of yourself, Cullen. Commander of the Inquisition, evil ex-Templar!_

And yet, a part of him hoped that Erevard would not see the horrors that he himself had seen, he would not need to know _why_ Templars were needed if he never saw an abomination or the horrors blood mages could inflict. At the very least, he could make sure that would never come to pass within the Inquisition. He _would_ make sure of it.

 

* * *

  


Erevard’s last stop of the day before the big ‘meeting’, was the tavern. He’d skipped out on eating the night before, and his last meal had been brought to his cabin shortly after the ceremony - stew and some water. The servant had told him that his meals would be free at the tavern if he did not wish to have them brought to him - and that he would have a bit more range in what he could eat if he went. Even though he wasn’t entirely new to the idea of having people waiting on him, it never sat well with him. To make matters more uncomfortable, the overwhelming majority of servants in Haven were elves. He hadn’t the slightest clue as to why, but that was another revelation he’d undoubtedly have sometime soon. The conversation with the Commander was already jarring enough - there was probably _another_ awful reason to accompany the already awful ones with mages and templars.

 

Eorzea was far from perfect, but learning about Thedas made him ache for him all the more. Worse, it raised more questions about the two worlds. Was Thedas one of Hydaelyn’s stars, and if so, were each of them this different from one another? What if it _wasn’t_ of Hydaelyn? How did he wind up Called this far from Her?

 

The questions had to wait, as he swung open the door a chorus of cheers assaulted him. **“TO THE HERALD!”** Came from almost everyone in the tavern, raising their mugs together in a toast. The initial shock wore off after but a moment and he nodded briefly to the people, who cheered again and went back to their meals and drinks. _Well, that was unpleasant._ But it always was, even back home.

 

His eyes scanned the room for an empty corner, for someone he knew, and he found Varric at a table with a few other soldiers… playing some kind of card game.

 

He very briefly considered going to speak to Varric regardless, but interrupting the card game would be rude. Thankfully, his decision was made for him when the dwarf found his eyes and waved him over with a warm smile. As he made his way across the tavern, Varric waved his hand to the table to make room for Erevard next to him.

 

Varric was playing with what seemed like mostly soldiers; all together they were six playing. He’d never really gotten to know any of the soldiers under the Alliance’s banners, should he even bother attempting it here?  Another interruption appeared to his right before he could even sit down at the chair offered to him; a human woman with short brown hair smiled brightly at him, “What would you like to eat this evenin’, Herald?”

 

Before he could open his mouth, Varric made his choice for him, “You’re quick tonight, Flissa! Bring him some ram and some of that ale, and don’t water it down!”

 

Had he eaten ram before? _Eh… Who cares._

 

‘Flissa’ was more than likely the owner of the tavern then, judging from her simple robe and apron too. She gave another warm smile and ran off to… wherever the kitchen was? He didn’t look, but sat down before someone else was going to come up to him. “Varric, you didn’t have to-”

 

The dwarf interrupted him with a laugh and a wave of his hand, “You’ve been running around most of the day, everyone’s seen you. Besides, the ram’s good, and you look like you need a drink.” He raised his hands and gestured at everyone seated at the long table, “We’re just playing Wicked Grace, ever heard of it?” Erevard shook his head. “You play cards back home, Spiky?”

 

A man with dark tattoos on his chin and nose across from Varric snorted, “ _That’s_ your nickname for him, Tethras?” The man had an accent Erevard had never heard before, too. He accentuated his R’s quite a bit.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with it, Rylen. Not all of you can be _gifted_ at nicknaming. No shame in that.”

 

“Oh bullshit, I wouldn’t call that a gift!” The man grinned at the dwarf and Varric matched it.

 

“I’ve never played cards, Varric. No time for that back home.” Erevard said before the two went back at each other. They seemed familiar with one another and Erevard wasn’t too sure if he wanted to just watch them take shots at one another.

 

Varric made a noise of half faked disgust and shock, “No time for cards he says… Bah! You wanna learn, Spiky?”

 

An elven woman with long, blonde hair and a green facial tattoo over her right eye interrupted, “He just wants a newcomer who’s easy to win off of!”

 

Varric rolled his eyes, but Erevard politely declined. He just wanted to eat, really. Varric shrugged and the table went back to playing while Erevard watched. After a few minutes he decided the card game seemed entirely too complicated for him and probably not worth learning, anyway. He may be stuck here for now, but he had every intention of leaving as soon as possible.

 

The game progressed pleasantly enough though. They were playing for coin, but no one seemed too sore at losing and winners didn’t gloat too much. There were playful jabs taken at people every once in a while, too. He learned some names and whose face they belonged to, maybe he could try to remember. Rylen was a human man sitting across from Varric who had facial tattoos and the only one at the table with _that_ accent, so that was easy to remember. He obviously knew who Varric was. The blonde elf woman was named Mira. The other elf at the table was a young looking man with long brown hair named Alnel, and he did not have tattoos. Next to Rylen an older man with grey hair poking out from under his hood and had an eye patch was named Antoine, he also had an accent a bit like Leliana’s. Finally was another dwarf, a female one named Kara, on the other side of Varric.

 

Thankfully, no one really asked him questions and they were all focused on the card game. When his food was delivered, Erevard thanked Flissa and started digging in. He was given a sizeable chunk of ram with some potatoes, gravy, and some vegetables he didn’t really recognize. Again, no one really bothered him so he could eat in peace. He didn’t touch the drink, though. _Not after that one time._ He pushed the memory away immediately.

  


He ate quickly as that meeting he was told to attend tonight was rapidly approaching, and when he was finally done he excused himself quickly and made his way to the Chantry. Varric shot him a ‘good luck’ before he left.

 

The downside to Haven was that, while it wasn’t as cold as Ishgard was, it was still bloody cold when it got dark. It was well into the evening now, the sun was gone and the wind was actually picking up. His armour was good enough for the weather, but his face still felt the chill of the wind. Maybe he could find a scarf or a cloak tomorrow? He hadn’t really dressed himself in Ishgard - Count Edmont was always throwing him things to bundle up with, “ _Lest you catch a cold,”_ he’d say. The memory brought a small smile to his face, and he thought it best to stop his mind from wandering further. No sense making himself upset wondering what Edmont was doing now.

 

The walk was relatively quick from the tavern thankfully, and he warmed up quickly inside the Chantry. He knocked on the war room door before entering, and there stood the leaders of the Inquisition. The first thing he wanted to do was ask for his weapons back, too.

 

His entry earned him some nods and a smile from the Ambassador - who he had learned before the ceremony was named Josephine. They hadn’t really spoken, but she seemed nice enough. She smiled a lot.

 

Leliana didn’t seem happy, as she always seemed to be. Cassandra and the Commander - his name was… Cullen? Seemed neutral. There were chairs around the table, and some wine bottles and glasses atop it. The maps that were there before were no longer on it.

 

“Alright, I didn’t expect a party here.” Erevard pointed at the wine, Cassandra gave a noise of disgust and Cullen huffed amusedly. Leliana scowled and Josephine smiled nervously.

 

Leliana was the first to speak, “Take a seat, and do explain Soul Crystals and whatever else we should know about you.” There was a degree of hostility and it was plainly obvious this was an order from her.

 

Did they _need_ to know everything about him? Did they _need_ to know what the Blessing was? Who Hydaelyn is? _What_ he really is? They saw him as the herald of some god figure, didn’t they? Could he tell them he _kills gods_ back home? He’d already had the Echo happen in front of them with Cullen back at the remains of the Temple, too. They’d have to learn about it sooner or later - and better sooner if he was stuck in it during something important.

 

Leliana had begun tapping her fingers against the table, and the noise brought him back to the room.

 

Everyone was seated except Leliana and he.

“And if I say no?”

 

“Are you planning to?” She smirked, but she didn’t look comfortable doing it, there was uncertainty on her face. What could they do if he was to say no? They can’t throw him out, they need the mark on his hand. _Should_ he say no?

 

He pulled up one of the chairs and grabbed one of the glasses of wine and pouring himself a good amount. Taking as big a gulp he could manage - he’d need it - before speaking. Ultimately, there wasn’t an immediate risk in telling them some things. He’d die before he would tell them about Fray, though - especially after learning about abominations and all that shite. Would they leave him alone if he told them enough, too?

 

They watched him carefully. “You know I’m not from ‘here’. I am from Eorzea. I was called the Warrior of Light there. Chosen of Hydaelyn. I was given a gift called ‘The Echo’, it renders me invulnerable to tempering from Primals and gives me the-”

 

Cassandra waved her hands about and shook her head, “Wait wait wait- Herald, you… You make no sense when you speak. We do not know these things you are saying.”

He frowned. He hadn’t actually considered that. They wouldn’t know what he was talking about, they weren’t _there._ Just as he hadn’t been here and they needed to explain to him. _Gods I’m an idiot sometimes._  

“Hydaelyn is… Hydaelyn is our ‘Maker’? She has… Well, I don’t know how many, but I’ve met a few others like me - ‘Chosen’, whom she gives ‘The Echo’. I’m not completely sure what else the Echo gives me, but so far I know I can understand other languages and… it… gives me visions of people’s pasts, not always, but sometimes. It’s very sudden and rather uncomfortable.”

They all looked rather uncomfortable with that bit of knowledge. He wouldn’t blame them, he would not be comfortable with having his past revealed to another, either. Unwillingly, at least. They did not speak, so he kept going, “I’ll get a nasty headache for a moment then get shoved into the person’s memories - never from their point of view, either. It’s like I’m looking at it from… From an outsider’s view. It’s how we found out some rather unsavoury information on my world…” He shuddered, thinking back to the founding of Ishgard he saw and just how crazed Asahi, the ‘Garlean ambassador’ had truly been.

 

Leliana crossed her arms and sat, also reaching for wine; the others followed suit shortly after, he wanted to laugh. “Such as?”

 

_Well, I guess I’ll be mentioning some of that bullshit._

 

“What kind of example do you want? Someone’s memories or something big I saw?”

 

“Big.”

 

He looked at Cassandra as he spoke, “I saw the truth of the founding of Ishgard, the peace broken between Elezen and Dragons by selfish men who slaughtered Ratatoskr for her power, for her eyes. A dragon’s power lay in their eyes in my world, and they killed- nay, _butchered_ her for that power. That began the Dragonsong war. Her mate, _Nidhogg_ ,” He hadn’t intended the name to come out with… venom, “declared that the sons of Ishgard shall answer for the crimes of their fathers. The war lasted for... For far too long. And it had begun on a _lie_.”

 

He remembered the following arguments after his vision: they couldn’t exactly reveal this without causing civil war through Ishgard. It had infuriated him at first, but his friends were right, they couldn’t afford it at the time. A pang of worry shook him, _what would Ishgard be like now, I wonder?_ Would he see the city rebuilt? Would he see his home at all again?

 

“And people believe you when you see those things? No questions asked?” Cullen frowned.

 

“The people who were confronted for that lie knew it was a lie, so yes, they believed it.” _The Vault…_

 

“What is ‘Hydaelyn’?” Leliana shifted the conversation; no doubt due to her strong beliefs of her own Maker.

  
“It’s extremely complicated to explain everything, but she is the Mother Crystal. Because I am her chosen, I have looked upon her when she calls me-”

 

Leliana’s eyes widened, “You actually have spoken to your Maker?”

 

“Yes, if you let me finish…” He sighed loudly, and summoned his own crystal from Her. The women gasped and Cullen muttered some curse  under his breath as the crystal formed in his hands; “This is my Crystal from Her. Each of her chosen have their own and it is a part of what links us to Her. A friend of mine, Urianger, once used it to send us to Her, but… I am unsure how he did it. I may look into it, as She has not spoken to me since arriving here. It worries me.” He bit his lip, not usually one to admit something like that to people… It did worry him that She was silent, because he had tried already and was met with nothing but darkness. Did the voice that ripped him away seal him off from Her, as Midgardsormr did?

 

He held the Crystal in his hands; it was cold. When he felt connected to Her, it always radiated a calming warmth, but now it was cold as ice in his grasp. He hadn’t noticed Leliana and Cassandra standing next to him, eyeing it. Leliana reached a hand to him, “May I hold it?”

 

The last time he gave it over to someone, it was Urianger and he was flung into Her realm… He nodded, but kept his eyes on it as he handed it over. The thing was basically a shiny rock at this point, but he would not dare lose it. “It’s pretty, Herald.” The redhead smiled, turning it over in her hands and holding it to the candlelight.

 

“What is ‘tempering’, Herald?” Josephine asked.

 

He did not like speaking of it, yet he opened his mouth… “It’s…” His brow furrowed and he bit his lip again, before taking another sip of the wine. “My gift comes at a cost. It gives me a power that means I have become the leading ‘expert’ on my world on dealing with a certain type of enemy.”

_I have just shown them I can speak with something akin to a God, and now I must tell them I also kill Gods. Really going full blown idiot today, aren’t I?_

 

Leliana handed him back the crystal and went back to her seat. Now Cullen was taking rather big gulps of the wine. Maybe they know he’s going to say something they won’t like.

 

“What I’m about to say doesn’t leave this room. Understood?”

 

They looked to one another before nodding nervously.

 

“In my world, through the power of faith and the hoarding of crystals - not like mine here, ones that harbour magical power in them, you can ‘summon’ a God.” All of their eyes widened in shock, and he knew he had to keep talking; “That may sound like an amazing thing, but it’s not. These ‘Gods’ are called Primals. They are _false_ gods. Twisted versions created by the desires of those summoning it. For example, let’s say you had vengeance in your mind for a loved one as you summoned a Primal. That Primal, will embody that vengeance. Lakshmi, the goddess of love and beauty of the Ananta had been summoned by the leader who had just lost her daughter. The summoning happened when she was filled with hate and loss… The.. Primal brought her daughter back to life, but with no soul.”

 

Josephine looked on the verge of tears, “That’s…”

 

He kept going, “These Primals also have an effect on people without the Echo. That is called ‘tempering’. Being in the presence of the blasted things… It… They enslave your mind. You become a mindless servant to the Primal’s whims and desires. It is temporarily broken once it is killed, but the process is never reversed. If it’s summoned again, you lose your mind once again. When a person is tempered, they are… executed.”

 

He recounted the first Primal he had encountered - Ifrit, lord of the Inferno. They had planned an ambush on the Amal’jaa beast tribe who were tempered, but in truth, they had walked into their own ambush. Erevard was taken before the Primal to be turned, but as the blue light washed over him, nothing happened. Less could be said for the others. Surrounding him were but the husks of the people he had been offered with, their minds lost to the tempering of Ifrit. They praised their God with wild eyes and vacant faces - nothing but slaves now.

  
  
  


When the fight was over, they regained their minds - but it wouldn’t matter. If Ifrit was ever re-summoned, and it was, they would be lost again. The soldiers who had come to rescue them told Erevard they were executed when no one was looking, and letters sent to their families that they were killed in battle.

That was when he learned he was chosen.

 

“You kill these... gods.” Cullen was pale, his face a mess of confusion and hurt.

 

Erevard nodded sadly, “I do, so that no one can be tempered by them. They drain Hydaelyn’s power, too. I was made to kill them.”

 

“But why do they summon them?” Cassandra slammed her fist against the table, her own face full of anger.

 

He answered  her in kind with his own fist against the table, his anger clear in his voice; “Because they’re scared, Cassandra. Because they’re grieving, because they have nothing else to turn to. What do you all do when you are frightened and need guidance? You pray. In my world, they pray and they _can_ be answered - but at great cost! Would you give your mind, your soul, everything you are, to look upon something that is an abomination of your ‘Maker’? Something that would _temper_ others? A thing that only strives for _power_?”

 

The anger was draining from him, he just felt tired now, “Primals cannot be allowed to live, Cassandra. I’m the one they all looked to, to deal with them. That was my role for the world. _God slayer,”_ he almost spat the words, “and what do you think of your _Herald_ now?”

 

He regretted the words as he said them. They all looked… scared. Lost. Confused. Hurt.

 

_Idiot!_

 

“We tell this to no one. No one.” Cassandra did not meet his eyes as she spoke.

 

_Well, better commit to being the giant asshole you already made yourself out to be,_ “Anything else?”

 

They still would not look at him. No one spoke. He still hadn’t gone over Soul Crystals or anything, but judging from the mood of the room? He didn’t think they would ask him to remain any longer.

 

It was better this way. Don’t get close to anyone. No one can be hurt that way. Keep them away - let them be scared. Seal the Breach and _leave._

 

_Woe betide the man who stands besides the Warrior of Light..._

 

He got up and went to the door, holding it open a moment before looking back at them, “You aren’t the only ones who think I’m a monster.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Loud banging on the door of his cabin woke him up. A quick glance out the window showed it was an entirely unreasonable time to wake him – this had best be important.

 

The banging grew quicker and more frantic, Solas rushed to get a shirt on and called for the intruder to come in politely. Surprisingly, the Nightingale herself was the one to enter. She shut the door behind her and sighed with her back still to him, leaning with her hands pressed to the door, “We have a problem.”

 

Solas knew there was a meeting with the leaders of the Inquisition and the new ‘Herald’. Varric

hadn’t been too quiet about it, and many people were whispering about seeing the Herald stomp his way out of the Chantry. Something had angered the man greatly, and the fact that Leliana was here now meant the meeting had gone _very_ poorly. Perhaps on

both ends then? “I assume you need my help with something, Nightingale?”

 

She turned to him, and she did not look pleased. If anything, she was clearly angry right now, “Anything Erevard tells you, report it to me. Varric was given similar instructions as you will be accompanying the Herald to the Hinterlands in the coming days.”

 

He knew he shouldn’t press with the spymaster, but her tone gave away desperation. Maybe he could pry more out of her. Play on whatever was worrying her, if he could. “Is there something wrong with the Herald?”

 

“Nothing you need concern yourself with. We just need more information on our resident offworlder.”

 

No, he could do better than this. “If I am to report to you with whatever the man tells me, it may be beneficial if I know a little of what I should be looking for.”

 

She did not reply immediately and seemed to ponder on his words, her expression changing from anger to interest as she thought it over, then acceptance. “He may be more dangerous than we initially thought. What’s more is he was the one to insist that what he said does not leave that room; he may not even tell you anything.” She continued with a heavy sigh, “I am not entirely sure I believe him. Cassandra tells me you study the Fade, have you seen anything concerning our mysterious offworlder?”

 

Solas didn’t even need to lie about that. “I have not.” He could push a little more yet, maybe. “You have found nothing of him from your contacts?”

 

“It’s too early to say, but no, nothing yet. I wouldn’t expect to, obvious as it is that he clearly isn’t from _here_. I was hoping to see if there were others like him at the very least, but nothing yet. He’s made mention of his friends and he hearing a ‘voice’ calling to them. Start with that and ask him about it, he may reveal more.”

 

A voice calling to them? His first thoughts went straight to some demon calling them, but the earlier conversation with the man made him pause. If he was mentioning that, it was probably out of the ordinary on his world.

  
Leliana, sadly, did not give away more information. Too much prying would also be too suspicious and would draw attention. Although he knew she was hiding much more, he couldn’t safely ask without risking himself, yet. She gave him orders and left with a thinly veiled threat that he could be ‘useful’ and maybe ‘make people more comfortable with him’. Oh, to be reminded that he was living among Humans and their Chantry.

 

Regardless, he already had his approach to this planned out. Because of the mark on the man, wards needed to be placed upon it every so often. Although a check-up was not entirely necessary yet, he could make the excuse that it is required every few days. It would give him a chance to speak with him, hopefully. He would go tomorrow night. For now, he needed to speak with Wisdom.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Why had he acted like that? Why? Why… why… why. _Why?_   There was absolutely no reason to say what he said, and yet, he did not stop the words pouring out of his big stupid mouth.

This was why back home, he did not talk. This was why he let the others do the talking – Alphinaud and Y’shtola would never have done that. Why were they not with him? Why? _Why? Why…?_

The answer to one of his questions came to him once he reached his cabin.

He had failed to notice that his Dark Knight armor did not disappear once he re-attuned to Paladin before he left in the morning. Easy to miss; that never once happened before. There was enough on his mind already as well for him to pay no attention.

Fray sitting on his bed had his attention immediately.

Fray sat at the edge, his gaze locked on the armor stand across the room with a hand under his chin. If Erevard could see his face under the helm, no doubt he would wear an expression of boredom. Fray was also in the form he usually took, of a Hyur in black and blue armor and no sword.

Neither of them moved. What should Erevard say? Why was he here now?

“They deserved it, you know.”

“Fray…”

“You know the answer already.” Fray did not look at him, but shook his head. “Do you remember what I said to you, so long ago? Serve. Save. Slave. Slay. That is what you do. It’s what you always do. You know what they will ask of you, Erevard.”

They ask him to be some Herald to a god he does not know. To stand before a world he knows nothing of and claim divinity to the people. That he was chosen to be here to save them. He has heard the whispers in the town – they do not know his real name, he is only ‘the Herald’. He is tasked with closing a hole in the sky; an impossible feat only he can accomplish because… He holds a mark that can do it.

Was it so different from Warrior of Light?

Fray knew his thoughts, for they were one. He made a noise of annoyance and finally looked to Erevard, “Aye, that’s the problem. You’ve traded one set of chains for another, Erevard. Because you’re _special_. Again. You won’t leave them, we know you won’t.”

“We? As in us two, or is Myste hiding somewhere?”

Fray shrugged nonchalantly, “Does it really matter? He won’t tell you to leave. You two are closer in mind than us.”

That much was true. Even though Erevard had welcomed the darkness initially, he couldn’t leave people to suffer. Maddening as it was with Myste, the boy and he were one. Just as Fray was a part of him.

“Well, do we really know what they want with me? Not exactly like they were given a chance to speak after what I pulled back there.” Erevard was rewarded with a chuckle from Fray – it was rare to hear him laugh in any form.

“Fair enough, but you know what will come of this.”

“I don’t have much of a choice here, we’re not home. How do we get back home? I don’t have the faintest idea, Fray.”

Another shrug from the Hyur, “We were Called here, that much is certain.”

Now it was time to ask what exactly had happened at the Temple, “I wanted to ask you…”

Fray waved a hand dismissively, and looked back at the armor stand, “Funny thing, that. I don’t remember it either.”

“ _What?_ It was obviously you there! How can you not remember- _”_

“Because _you_ don’t, either. I don’t know, Erevard. I really don’t know. This world… It’s different. I _feel_ different here. Even the boy does. We are less attached to you, if that makes any sense. We heard your Commander – if you were to tell anyone about Us, you risk your life. The people here… Do _not_ trust them.”

Judging by Sidurgu’s reaction back in the Peaks when Fray had manifested to deal with Myste’s… ‘Rebellion’, as he called it, this was above and beyond anything a ‘regular’ Dark Knight should have. Once again, Erevard was the odd one out – if it was bizarre back home, how could he explain it in such a way that it wouldn’t frighten people here? Especially after he was told about ‘abominations’. “So you don’t remember, and you feel different here. Is that why I got so angry earlier? It was you?”

Fray made a soft, amused sound now. “Maybe. I did say they deserved it.”

“That’s…” Unsettling? Wrong? Terrifying? Fray could take charge of his emotions without him even knowing?

“I wouldn’t go that far. It’s not like we hadn’t done it before, you know.”

It was true. When he was a less experienced, fledgling Dark Knight, Fray had been quite vocal to many of the people they encountered… The absolutely terrified Isembard came to mind when they returned to camp _covered_ in Amalj’aa blood.

_“Look at yourself! Most of that’s not even your blood!” Fray had laughed for the first time they’d been together, after an absolute mess of a fight- nay, a slaughter. The man actually laughed._

The merchant at the Moraby Drydocks was even more of an… experience. Fray had been very obviously irritated at the man and held no verbal punches when they returned. The moron had actually pitched a fit and demanded payment after securing his goods – albeit blood soaked goods.

_“You spineless sack of shite! I kill your enemies! I fetch your things! I do what you people can’t or won’t do yourselves! You’re helpless! WEAK! All you do is want and need! I should’ve left you all to drown in Leviathan’s tidal wave, at least then I would’ve been spared your constant bloody whining!”_

Although he normally wouldn’t say anything of the sort, he had to admit, the idiot bloody deserved it.

Fray, of course, knew what he was thinking and _amazingly_ was at three almost-laughs. “Adorable, you’re _reminiscing_ of us getting mad at people. Maybe there’s hope for you.”

Now it was Erevard’s turn to chuckle, “You’re not always wrong, but still. Lay off, I can handle this.”

He wondered if Fray was ever smiling underneath that helm. Only his eyes were visible, but he could just barely make out what he hoped was a smile the way they moved, “I know you can. But we don’t want you to feel alone. As I said before…” Fray stood from the bed and stepped towards him, and stopped barely a foot away from him, “You need only ask.”

As his aether always did as a Dark Knight, Fray disappeared into a black cloud of aether before him. It took but a few seconds for it to fade completely, and then he was alone once more.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled on this chapter for a bit - trying to make it sound alright. I hope it worked.   
> Also, 7 more days until early access for Shadowbringers. Fic updates may slow down a bit as I work my way through the story, since they threw us a lore bomb that may change stuff. I'm so excited! >_<


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Shadowbringers is officially tomorrow - updates will slow considerably for the next week or two as I will be powering through it. But like I said, not abandoning this! So, there WILL be updates, just not for a bit. :)

The morning started calmly enough; no snow, clear skies and no biting cold wind. The sounds of the bustling town were also calm enough – if he were able to, he would lounge in bed longer, but he never was one to do so. Sleep was already uncomfortable enough most of the time, and he’d done enough of it lately with recovering from his latest ordeals. There was the matter that there were no usual nightmares accompanying his sleep, too. He had initially shrugged it off that it was just how utterly exhausted he was that was causing it, and he was partly grateful for at least that.

 

Of course, he enjoyed the pleasantness for but a minute before a runner caught him. He was ordered to report to the Commander at the soldier’s camp immediately. When he asked why, the runner, a young Hyur - no, a Human - boy of barely twenty years merely shrugged and went about his duties. After bowing and leaving with, “Lord Herald”, first. He still wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to think about their treatment of him. Better to set that side for later.

What took precedent was curiosity that the Commander was summoning him after the events of last night; perhaps this could be about last night’s problems? The man was less vocal than Cassandra had been, but still equally… Upset. Upset was a good enough word for it. 

 

Devastated? Horrified? Petrified? No, upset was good.

 

Erevard found him quickly enough, but there was definitely something going on. Cullen stood alongside a few hay-stuffed dummies just outside the gate. None of the usual soldiers were being drilled – but instead, two heavily armored people stood next to him. Judging from the descriptions he was given yesterday, they were Templars. They were garbed in winged steel helms with matching gauntlets, and upon their chest plates was engraved a red sword. The lower half of their ensemble was shrouded by a long blue skirt embroidered with some golden threading; but he could see black leather boots poking out from underneath. The both of them held what looked to be practice swords and shields. People still walked about the outside of the town, but they were definitely supposed to be set away from the regular business.

 

So this was some sort of training exercise, or a test.

 

How long had it been since Erevard had actually done training? The last time that came to mind was fighting Curious Gorge for the soul of the Warrior, and even then – it turned out to be much more to Gorge’s benefit than his own. Did Cullen want him to partake in drills, too?

 

Fray’s words echoed in the back of his mind.  _ “Do not trust them.” _

 

_ Ugh. _

* * *

 

Their first meeting was barely a meeting, really. He had no idea why he’d opened his mouth to Cullen and actually volunteered for this. Probably too many blasted drinks again, he was making a regular problem of this when with Varric. Maker, he didn’t even  _ talk  _ to the man. Thinking back on it, it was quite rude. But, the man also didn’t really speak to any of them, so maybe not?

Rylen hadn’t seen the man around the mountain on the day of his attempt at closing the Breach, but some of the soldiers had. They spoke of the prisoner being a colossal pink-haired elf; an absolute freak, basically. That obviously changed the day after once ‘Herald of Andrasted’ was tacked on to the poor man, but regardless – it was hard not to stare. Thankfully, at the tavern, he’d been engrossed in the game and hadn’t stared too much – and if he did, it seemed unnoticed. The man was quiet the entire time and ate silently, but Rylen could tell he was taking time to actually  _ look  _ at people.  It was strange seeing such a large man almost hide himself with the way he sat. He sat hunched in on himself and ate silently next to Varric the entire time and left just as silently, just excusing himself politely.

 

Even more curious was what Cullen had told him of the man. He called himself ‘Warrior of Light’ to his homeland, but no elaboration as to what that meant. All Cullen told him was that he said he was some great hero back home and the whole ‘Herald’ thing was bothering him a bit. 

 

Should he call him by name, or Herald, then? Should he call him Warrior of Light? This was getting confusing.

 

The Herald – which is what Rylen decided on anyway – frowned as he approached, looking between him, Cullen and… Well, he didn’t really know who the other Templar was. Just some random recruit Cullen probably pulled for this, maybe.  “You… Wanted to see me?” Rylen had heard the Herald speak before in the crowded tavern, but it was much more foreign now with no background noise to mask it. He almost spoke like a noble, and had a very deep voice for an… elf.  _ Not an actual elf. Cullen said he was ‘Elezen.’ Do they all sound like that? What is a short Elezen like? Is he freakishly tall for even his people- _

 

Cullen cleared his throat before speaking, and put on his best ‘Commander’ voice, “Yes. We’ve decided it would be best you show us what you can do during battle. You are to present yourself here in the mornings before and after you leave for the Hinterlands-”

 

“I’m  _ leaving? _ ” The Herald did not sound very happy about that. Rylen shifted uncomfortably, the man’s voice had risen with the question. What would someone called a Warrior of Light look like when pissed off?

 

“You will be. The situation in the Hinterlands is tense, and there will be a meeting you will attend tonight to go over what your objectives will be there.”

 

"And what would you have me do with your Templars here?" He lifted his chin towards them but kept his eyes on Cullen.

 

Cullen blinked in surprise, "I am surprised you recognize them so quickly. What tipped you off?"

 

"Their garb..."

 

Well, that’s one thing out of the way for the day. Cullen hadn’t told the man yet, but this was intended as an educational spar for the man. There didn’t seem to be anything like Templars on his world, from what Cullen had learned. There would be many of them in the near future if he was finally leaving Haven and going out into the world; he would need to know how to fight them.

 

Cullen did that thing he always did when he was getting nervous or uncomfortable – rubbing the back of his neck. He cleared his throat again, “Ah, right. Good. I have already spoken about this with the others, and we decided to have you demonstrate what you are capable of with your Crystals here.”

 

_ Crystals?  _ Despite his training and discipline, Rylen was finding it very hard to not ask questions and stay silent. It was also incredibly strange to see Cullen getting flustered so quickly. He had even begun this conversation in his ‘Commander’ voice, but now it was gone.

 

The Herald raised a brow and tilted his head but didn’t say anything. Cullen kept speaking, “Our Templars are here to-”

 

“I know what Templars do, Commander.” The Herald’s jaw tensed and his features matched the anger in his voice.

 

_ Uh oh. _

 

Now Cullen was absolutely flustered and unprepared, he spoke in a bit of a panic, “They are merely here to-”

 

A blue light enveloped the Herald, as fast as the blink of an eye and changed everything he was wearing.

 

The man was now clad in a black coat with wide, open sleeves and golden buttons across his chest. Each shoulder had a large pad, with little pouches strapped to them. A leather sash was draped across his chest, just below a very wide collar. The bottom of the coat flared out just a bit, and was inlaid with more golden accessories – like badges in the shapes of a sun. His gloves were just as dark as his coat, but with armor on his fingers, giving him what looked like claws. The boots were thigh-high and also black, and had a bit of a heel to them. Unsurprisingly, his pants were also black and seemed to be made of some type of cloth. What caught Rylen’s attention the fastest, however, was the staff now in his right hand.

 

The staffs of most mages were usually wooden and not too intricate, but this one was made of some kind of metal – and also black. The head also was completely different than what he was used to; it was a large, purple crescent – like the moon. The crescent was made of some kind of crystal he’d never seen before either. In the middle of the moon was a golden star with an emerald within it.

 

His previous attire with the brown leathers and all the gold was already intricate enough, and while this armor was a bit less intricate, that staff was a masterwork. Either this man was incredibly wealthy, or his world had blacksmiths like no other.

 

The Herald held up his staff high in front of him, with his open hand turned upwards next to him. 

The staff lit up, the moon part now glowing with purple and yellow – and the emerald lit up as well.  _ It glows, too. What next?! _

 

He jumped at what came next.

 

The Herald flung the head of the staff onto the ground, and light exploded below him. A circle, almost a pentagram of white light emerged underneath him, and he stood within it. The man placed his left hand on his hip mockingly and smirked,  “Since you wanted so badly to see what I can do…”

* * *

 

All three of them jumped back as his Ley Lines sparked to life below him. His staff lit with the telltale black aether as he poured power into it. He would not truly cast a harmful spell, but preparing a Sleep spell would be enough to scare them. They would see the magic flow into the staff, and worst case? They get put to sleep and Erevard tosses some snow on them.

 

He couldn’t see the faces of the two helmeted Templars, but Cullen looked about ready to run. 

 

Was this Fray’s interfering again, or was this all him? He couldn’t tell, but it felt  _ good _ .  There was something insulting at being told to put on a performance for them.

 

"Come on now, would you hesitate were I one of your Circle Mages?”

 

“Herald, this is unnecessary!”  _ That  _ got a reaction out of Cullen, and he was back in his ‘Commander’ voice now. The man took a confident step forward, but looked down at the Ley Lines and moved no further. So he was scared, then. Erevard could understand that, fear of the unknown and all. But knowing what Templars did to Mages, he felt glad that the man was afraid of this.

 

“This is supposed to  _ help  _ you. You will be going into dangerous territory in the Hinterlands – right in the middle of the war between Mages and Templars! We want you to be  _ prepared _ , Herald!”

 

It wasn’t too often Erevard felt utterly stupid and defeated, but he was on an absolute record in Thedas with doing stupid things. The confident smirk he’d been sporting had all but disappeared and was left with shame, but he could still turn this around.

 

“Smite me, then.”

 

Cullen actually gasped and yelled, “Absolutely not! It is incredibly painful and we cannot have the Herald of the Inquisition-”

 

Erevard interrupted and pointed at the two Templars, “One of you, do it. Cullen do I get paid? If I get paid, I’ll give you… Whatever you call your… coin.” Cullen had turned to the two and was telling them to absolutely  _ not  _ do what he’d asked.

 

He could imagine Fray calling him an absolute moron later for this. Fray wouldn’t be wrong, either. Actually, all of his friends would probably call him a moron right now.

 

The best part, however, was that the yelling had attracted people. Villagers and soldiers alike had come to see the commotion and were now crowding around, whispering to each other as 

 

Cullen was now arguing with the Templar on the left in whispers.

 

This of course got worse when Cassandra barreled her way through the growing crowd and demanded to know what was going on. Erevard had to give her credit; she didn’t even bat an eye at the Ley Lines glowing under him and managed to sneer at him and Cullen before yelling.

 

“I told them to Smite me. Cullen refuses.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened before she went back to being angry, “And why are you asking that?”

 

Erevard shrugged. “See if it works.”

 

Cassandra threw her palm to her face with a loud ‘smack’ noise and groaned.

 

“That may not be a bad idea, Seeker, Commander.”  Solas had also pushed his way through the crowd. Now they just needed Varric-

“Taking bets! Curly lets the Herald get hit or not!” Ah, there was Varric. Running around the crowd and grabbing coin from people, with a hat and a bucket. Normally he’d be a bit offended at the bet taking, but Cassandra’s second, even louder groan actually made him smile.

 

“If you won’t Smite me then at least try that Silence you were telling me about.” Erevard still stood within his Ley Lines; he was also mildly impressed the crowd wasn’t screaming about that too. If Templars got scared about it, what would everyday people think of his magic? Hells, he hadn’t even summoned a Carbuncle or Eos yet!  _ Maybe next time? _

 

Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose before answering through grit teeth, “This is entirely ridiculous…” She composed herself quickly enough and stood tall, holding her right gauntleted hand forward, palm facing him. “Are you completely sure of this, Herald?”

 

Erevard nodded and prepared. Cullen had explained a Silence to him. Templar ability that cuts a Mage off from the Fade and their mana. Realistically, it would only be cutting off his mana if it did work, and it would be worth knowing if he could use the Soul at all near Templars without risk of losing access to his mana.

 

What they could also do with this, was see if he could use his aether at all if Silenced. If he was Silenced as a Black Mage, could he quickly switch to Dragoon? Or would it cancel out his aether completely? He didn’t say that, but he was now thinking it. Estinien had instilled in him a curiosity of pushing his limits, and he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to thank the man or not… 

 

Especially after what happened when Estinien pushed  _ his own  _ limits.

 

Cassandra’s brow furrowed, and she closed her eyes. He watched her breathe deeply, and the crowd finally went silent.

 

The whole thing barely lasted a few seconds.

 

She opened her eyes and a blue flame shot from her hand towards him, and he… felt absolutely nothing.

 

He blinked rapidly and still  _ felt  _ like he could cast, and upon looking down his Ley Lines were still going.

 

Casting the Sleep spell would probably be a massively bad idea with the crowd now.

 

Instead, he whirled around to the dummies behind Cullen and the Templars, and cast a Flare.

 

Magic had never come completely naturally to him – it took much more trial and error than it did with physical combat Souls. Black Mage was the worst. He had trouble containing the blasts and, if he was too close, sometimes ended up burning himself with his own spells. Lalai, his trainer, had often yelled at him for being clumsy and not concentrating enough on his spellwork. 

She also overheard once that he could actually perform the healing arts quite well (specifically, White Mage) and subsequently, become furious at him.

 

While it was utterly hilarious to him to have a Lalafell yelling at him, it still stung that he couldn’t quite master Black Mage. He got better at it, but some of the more complicated spells sometimes backfired on him. Flare was one he struggled with at times in the midst of combat, 

but he was  _ mostly  _ comfortable with it if he wasn’t stressed in said combat.

 

He thanked each and every one of the Twelve silently when the Flare went off  _ perfectly  _ and only obliterated the dummies and not the Commander and his Templars.

 

There would be no telling that Flare was the most stupid spell he could’ve gone for in that moment – he would take that secret to his grave.

 

The Commander, the Templars, and Cassandra (who Erevard had also just learned was in fact, a Templar too) all stared at the dummies. He hadn’t even noticed Cassandra had spun around for the spell. The crowd was eerily silent for but a moment as well – the sound of cheering soon hit his ears. He looked to the people and noted that many of the cheering people were Mages themselves – once again recognizable by their garb – and the ones dressed as Templars were looking a bit pale and shocked.

 

The Villagers were a mixed bag, some had joined the cheering and others were staring just as dumbstruck as what must have been the Templars. Some of the soldiers were also staring and some cheering.

 

At least it wasn’t entirely bad reactions.

He felt a hand grab his wrist and pull, he turned to see Cassandra looking absolutely furious – more so than before, somehow. “Meeting. War Room.  _ Now.” _

He didn’t bother fighting her as she actually pulled him all the way up to the Chantry, but there was some smug satisfaction at what he just pulled off.

Fray would be proud.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rylen will appear again. #LetussmoochRylenBiowarePls


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erevard messed up and tries to make up for it, albeit begrudgingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALIVE I SWEAR. Shadowbringers absolutely kicked my ass, honestly. There's so much I would love to add from it and I'm not sure what I will add or if anything, but oh MY GOD so much to play with! I've also started running Erevard through it as well, as he is an alt. FEELS AHOY. 
> 
> That being said the next chapter is already partly written and will be most of the Hinterlands. :)

He had to give it to Cassandra - she was much stronger than she looked. Which, she _did_ look strong with her armour and weapons. 

 

The fun ended when they actually arrived in the meeting room - the war room again. As she'd dragged him, she found Leliana outside the Chantry and barked the same as she did at Cullen. But there was no such barking at Josephine, who was in her office. Cassandra had stopped them outside it, turned to Erevard, snarled "Stay." and knocked on the door. Josephine answered and looked to the two clearly confused, and was told to come with.

 

Cassandra immediately latched her hand back onto his wrist and resumed dragging him like a lost child. 

 

Josephine looked at Erevard with wide eyes, like she couldn't believe this was happening. Erevard shrugged as best he could while being pulled along, earning a giggle from her.

 

Once Cassandra had finished dragging him into the war room, she barked at the guards to bring Solas too. 

 

More than likely due to assess what exactly he was casting, instead of asking him? Or maybe get a mage in here to tell him how dangerous that was, or some other stupid reason. 

Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Solas using very complex spells beyond the barriers he was putting on people the first day he'd woken up. Most of his spells were fireballs or bolts of ice and lightning. Was the magic here less potent than back home? 

 

Now it made a little more sense as to why the Seeker was pissed off. 

 

He mentally shrugged, anyway. They aren't going to stick him in a Circle like what they do to any other mage here. 

 

_"I'd like to see them try."_ Fray spoke at the back of his mind; he could practically feel the smugness in those words from the... whatever he was? Erevard still wasn't sure. 

Concentrating back on the situation at hand - everyone was accounted for, except Solas, and the two Templars were glaring daggers at him. Leliana just seemed mildly annoyed, and Josephine uncomfortable. 

 

 

Cassandra broke the tension by yelling, "You are not to do that ever again! If the Chantry had seen that- if they do see it - we would lose any hope of-" 

 

Leliana cut her off with a wave of her hand and a sad shake of her head, "What. Happened."

 

"He absolutely obliterated our training dummies outside, that I had intended to show him how to fight Templars with. With magic. Very powerful magic. Most of Haven saw it after he had begun arguing with me..." Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke and rubbed at it. The man was always doing something with his hands when he was obviously annoyed, it seemed. 

 

Also, he called it arguing? Now it was Erevard's turn to cut in, "You realize you opened with 'You're leaving tomorrow and now I'm going to throw some Templars at you', right?" 

 

Cullen blinked. Cassandra groaned.

 

"Perhaps we were a bit hasty and a less hasty approach was required, yes? We apologize for the problems this has caused, Herald. It will not happen again." Josephine had basically apologized for the group, even though she had nothing to do with this. Or did she? It mildly annoyed him regardless, she wasn't the one who should be apologizing. It should be Cullen and Cassandra. Or maybe Leliana too? She didn't seem to know what was going on.

 

Did he really even need an apology? He was being an absolute ass on purpose sometimes - he should apologize, but he won't. Better that way. 

 

Not that he was being given a chance, anyway. Cassandra had launched into a verbal essay on _why_ he should not perform such magic around people. She also spoke of the soldier who he had healed back at the Temple – mage healing was not widely accepted by the common folk, and they actually _had_ received a complaint by the man.

It was baffling. The soldier had actually left the service of the Inquisition, with how ‘upset’ (Josephine took over and used delicate words) he was over ‘foreign magic’.

 

_“So leave the next moron you see to die, simple as that.”_ Fray said bluntly. But it was never that simple.

 

Erevard shook his head sadly, listening to them speak.  Solas entered the room not much longer after Cassandra admitted that, while his magic was completely foreign to them, it was not entirely unwelcome. The only problem was performing it in front of people it may scare. Which, would be a problem if he were to do that in the Hinterlands due to the amount of refugees around. This was their chance to spread the good will of the Inquisition and start changing the Chantry’s views of them – Erevard could very easily throw them back to square one (or even less) should he make a mistake with his magic like that.

 

Cassandra asked Solas if he had felt anything from Erevard’s magic, to which the man only shook his head. His expression remained entirely neutral, “I had meant to ask him the spells he uses on his world.  The fact that both a mage and Templars cannot detect the slightest hint of him performing such feats is…”

 

“It is unsettling.” Cullen interrupted.

 

Solas raised an eyebrow, but still managed that neutral tone despite the Commander’s apparent unease, “I believe this gives us an advantage over the rebel mages and Templars, Commander.”

Leliana made a noise of amusement, “So we frighten them with his magic?”

 

There was some back and forth on this that Erevard tuned out. So they were going to the Hinterlands soon, where he’d been told mages and Templars were fighting each other and sweeping refugees up in the middle of their stupidity.

 

And what if he encountered some poor refugee on the brink of death? Was he to _ask_ them permission to save their life? This was ridiculous! Wasting precious moments to ask this, “Could I save your life, sir? I promise I’m not a scary mage!” He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned, and the room fell silent – all eyes on him again.

 

“If it’s any consolation, I do not prefer being a Black Mage – which, before you start, is what I am right now. Yes, it focuses on destructive magic. Yes, it’s dangerous. _Yes,_ it’s called ‘Black Mage’.” Should he leave out the part of it being kind of illegal where he was from? Probably.

 

“And Eorzea has many Black Mages?” Cullen asked.

 

_Sod it._

 

“Well… No. We have Thaumaturges which are the… Less… Powerful… It may be a _little bit…_ Frowned upon.” That was a better way of saying it, right? Without outright saying it? Besides, as the Warrior of Light no one really ever _questioned_ what weapons he used or what magic he used. Well... Not to his face.  Who would they bring such complaints to anyway? Tataru would _probably_ scare them off if they weren’t already frightened by the prospect of complaining about the Warrior-

 

“Frowned upon.” Solas repeated flatly, he most definitely caught what he wasn’t trying to say. 

 

Not like Erevard was a genius with words, anyway.

 

“Frowned upon!” Erevard reiterated back at him with a smile.

 

Cassandra made a loud ‘Ugh’ noise and clapped her hand to her face in annoyance.

 

“Whatever the case may be with his world and ours,” Solas, thankfully, took over the conversation before Erevard said something even more stupid, “the rebels must be dealt with, yes? Perhaps it would be beneficial to instill some fear in them with Erevard’s talents.”

 

There was some more back and forth by what became to look like each party: Solas and Leliana seemed to be leaning towards Mages while the two Templars, obviously, leaned to Templars - mostly on not ‘scaring’ them too much. Solas and Leliana argued the mages may still be amenable to negotiating as they themselves were scared of the Templars, and so on...

Josephine had actually remained rather silent throughout, as did Erevard.

 

What _was_ agreed on was that Erevard should use his abilities in combat – but refrain from it when refugees or civilians were too close. Stick with the sword and shield – which would be returned to him after the meeting.

 

He breathed a sigh of relief when he was told so, the shield was the most precious thing he had left with him – it would be a comfort to have it back now.

 

Walking around as a Paladin and having no weapons was uncomfortable enough already, but knowing _his_ shield was in someone else's hands? Not acceptable.

 

Withholding from going on a rampage to get it back surely meant he was improving at being diplomatic, right? Alphinaud would be proud… maybe?

 

Alisaie wouldn't, though. She'd tell him to kick-

 

"And now would be the part in which the Herald explains more of his abilities to us before he leaves."Leliana's order snapped him back out of his thoughts. 

 

He looked at everyone in the room before sighing under their expectant gazes, "Shouldn't Varric be-"

 

"No." Cassandra immediately interrupted, "He can find out later, punishment for him being _difficult_ earlier."

 

'Being difficult' over what, he wondered. Nevertheless, "I have fourteen Crystals, but use Paladin and Dragoon the most." Everyone blinked in surprise at fourteen. He had to admit, even the Scions and friends thought he was going overboard at first. All doubt vanished when they saw him in combat, though.

"You've briefly seen me as a Dragoon when we fought that monster at the Breach - true to it's name, I am a knight that specializes in killing dragons." Everyone remained quiet and thankfully, let him speak without interruption, "That demon reminded me of a Syricta, a type of dragon from my world - it's hide was much tougher, though. My spear barely pierced it."

 

Solas actually chuckled softly, "What you fought was a demon of Pride. They are one of the most powerful of its kind. On the road I will speak to you of demons we may encounter."

 

Erevard nodded, but Cullen added his own thoughts before he could continue.

"So we have two dragon slayers? He pointed to Cassandra by lifting his chin to her.

 

Erevard frowned after Cassandra's signature disgusted noise.

 

"Seeker Pentaghast comes from the Nevarran royal family - they are esteemed dragon hunters." Josephine added with a smile - and Cassandra rolled her eyes.

 

"I _was_ a dragon slayer. I prefer not to anymore. The Dragonsong War ended, I would not fight one unless I need to. I am Azure Dragoon no longer; neither is Estinien, frankly. The title changed - instead Ser Aymeric holds it, it is more of an ambassador title than _slayer_ title."

Everyone looked at him with incredible amounts of confusion, but Josephine was writing… something on the paper she always seemed to carry. 

 

"Dragons are little more than beasts here, Herald. They are quite rare, and so you may not encounter any… However, should one make itself a danger to any nearby settlements, slaying it may garner favour with the locals." 

 

Leliana's words bothered him. It wasn't too long ago that your everyday Ishgardian would say the same of _his_ world's dragons, could Thedas be wrong, too?

 

He shook his head, "I would speak with the dragon first. Unlike my friend Estinien, I would not speak with my lance first."

 

The last he'd seen of the man, his own attitude had changed too. Full glad was he that Nidhogg's demise made the past Azure Dragoon - a man who he considered a brother, now - much more amenable to peace with the dragons. 

 

The memories of their time with Faunehm brought a pang of sadness to his heart. Cassandra must have caught it, he saw her wince briefly before asking a question to which, he wasn't sure if he could answer. "You believe you can speak with them, then?"

 

"I'll try. The Echo permits me to with languages - though I've never attempted it with animals. I've heard of others who can, though. Dragons from my world use their own language, but communicate to man telepathically, so I'm told." He remembered their talk with Hraesvalgr and Alphinaud's comment on hearing within his mind - Ysayle and Estinien were not bothered in the slightest. Most likely due to previous experiences and Ysayle being Chosen as well.

 

Solas had begun tapping his chin with a finger, "Echo?"

 

Right. He wasn't there for that-

 

"Cassandra will explain on the road. Whatever you hear here, does not leave this room unless we say so. Varric will be told soon as well, since you will be travelling together." Leliana just _had_ to threaten the man. Thankfully, Solas seemed unfazed enough.

 

The silence offered him the chance to continue on the subject of his Crystals - though he would be sure to leave out some details concerning Machinist and Dark Knight. Having not seen a gun yet here, he wasn't sure if he wanted to pull _that_ out yet. 

 

"My healing specializations are threefold; White Mage, Scholar and Astrologian. White Mage being the most potent, and what I was atop the Temple when I healed that soldier. Scholar is more offensive and I let my fairy do the work-"

 

" _Fairy?"_ Well there went the not-being-interrupted streak, broken by none other than the Commander.

 

**_Swish._ **

 

As was becoming the norm, everyone jumped back (except Solas, thankfully) at the change. 

 

Because of the more offensive nature of Scholar, Erevard had opted to hold on to some old Allagan armour. And it was _actual_ armour. He had dyed the chestpiece a dark purple instead of the white he had received it in - hid the marks of battle a bit better that way.  

 

 

He grabbed his book from it's rest on his hip, threw it open, focused his aether, and… Eos emerged in a small sparkle of light. Before there was more jumping, Erevard launched into explanation, "She is both an extension of my aether, and her own being. Think of it as she is tied to me and I to her, but she will follow my every command." He raised his hand to her, and with a smile and a spin she fluttered to it and sat, kicking her feet and looking around the room.

 

"I assume you share a mutual bond, then?" Solas asked, "What you say seems similar to a spirit healer of our world."

 

Erevard had no idea what that was but nodded anyway. He went on to explain Summoner to them and made the switch to show his Garuda-egi to the group; unlike Eos, she was an extension of his aether and only that. He left out the 'mini Primal' part; and of course opting to summon Garuda and not Ifrit. _Not that they'd know what it looked like, anyway._ He plainly called them egi only - avoiding the names of their Primals and explained each of their uses. 

 

Admittedly, Cullen and Cassandra were visibly the least comfortable in the room. Maybe one day he'll toss Demi-Bahamut out and scare them. Not today, though. The constant switching was going to tire him out - he hated _performing_. 

 

He could practically feel Fray bristle with annoyance at that. It was true he absolutely refused to do this earlier, but if they were actually trying to help him… _Maybe_ he could cooperate a little more. 

 

Astrologian needn't be shown, as it's use was covered by Scholar and White Mage already. The only thing he mentioned was the use of his cards; how they would grant strength or healing to whoever he wanted. Solas commented it may be a good idea for stronger enemies that he was unfamiliar with and they knew. A fair point, and he could work with that.

 

Next was Monk - which he explained that like Warrior, was more on the physical side than magical. Cullen seemed unbelieving that he could kill with a fist weapon, Erevard didn't argue it - he just didn't care and didn't use Monk enough anyway. Warrior was skipped, as was Ninja due to being similar enough to Monk - and instead he went to Bard. They were content with ‘aether’ being his explanation for how he was fighting.

 

 

"You used this before the bridge with Roderick, correct?" Cassandra eyed his bow as she spoke, no doubt wondering why it glowed. Should he ever return home, he'd have to pay a visit to Gerolt and tell him of this. No doubt the man would get a good laugh out of it. 

 

Erevard nodded, "Correct. I am a Bard now. I first trained as an archer under the Gridanian guild, but found Jehantel in the Shroud. He passed his stone unto me, and no, I am not going to sing..." There was a twinkle in Leliana's eyes as soon as he'd said Bard; the change in expression told him _something_ was about to happen there.

 

Leliana smirked at him, "A pity! I too was a Bard in my younger days. It _would_ do… things, to your reputation should we say that."

 

"Absolutely not. I am Warrior of Light, not _singer_ of Light."

 

Leliana and Josephine actually giggled. _Giggled._ “Bard means two very different things here, Herald. A conversation for another time.”

 

Now it was Erevard's turn for an 'ugh'. 

 

Next was Red Mage, which he had to briefly explain White and Black magic; that covered some of White Mage amd Black Mage as well. Solas commented that mixing elements was not something easily done in Thedas. Erevard had nothing to say on that, as he was quickly getting to two problem ones. Machinist gave him the beginnings of a headache trying to think of explaining - he silently wished for the presence of at least Cid here, Stephanivien as well. Frankly, he had no clue how he would go about recreating the weapon. Stephanivien handed him the gun and said ‘point at bad guy and pull trigger’. 

 

Dark Knight _worried_ him. 

 

The best way to avoid it was an excuse. He told the group he was feeling tired (not entirely a lie) and his aether felt low. (Well, there was the lie.) Cassandra nodded and concluded the meeting, apparently allowing it as they were set to leave tomorrow at dawn. Apparently, it was evening already too. 

 

_"Back on the road, where we belong."_ Erevard agreed with Fray. Even back home, he hated staying in one spot. 

 

Solas, however, stopped him before he could leave once the others agreed on ending the meeting. "Has your Mark bothered you lately?"

 

Erevars shook his head, Solas smiled softly, "Then the wards I placed are still working. I would like to reinforce them before they fade, if I could meet you somewhere after…?" 

 

Warded? Erevard shrugged, "In my cabin, I suppose. We can go now if you prefer." Food would be brought, so why not? 

 

Solas followed him to his cabin in silence; Erevard looked around the small village as they walked, not really wanting to converse.

 

He had yet to see a Qunari still, and very much doubted any were in Haven. There were _mostly_ Humans, Elves were the second most, and Dwarves the least of those present. Judging by the lack of comments earlier, they probably had no Beastmen on Thedas. He wondered what the reactions of this new group would be like in a city such as Limsa Lominsa. There had been plenty of races present in the markets there. Hells, what would they say of an Au Ra? Should he even mention the Nadaam…?

 

Additionally, it seemed Humans were at the center of the Chantry, not Elves or Dwarves. He had yet to see one in the robes that marked the Chantry's servants. More questions for the people here, perhaps. 

 

A guard had been stationed outside his cabin, they nodded at his arrival and stepped aside to let them in. Erevard had not been given a key, the guard was the one to unlock it. 

 

They were leaving tomorrow, no point in fighting for one now.

 

His cabin wasn’t exactly the most elaborate of places he’s had to himself. Hells, his room back at the Fortemps manor was nearly double the size of this quaint little thing. One thing that other places did lack, that this had? 

 

He froze once he had stepped inside, eyes locked to the bed and who was on it.

 

_Fray._

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the Hinterlands!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been kicking my ass these past two weeks; literally am on my first break after 8 days straight of work... Then I get another crazy week then it's back to normal.
> 
> ALSO I'M REALLY SORRY AT THE COMMENTOR WHO WANTED TO SEE SOLAS MEET FRAY I'M SORRY SORRY SOORRRRYY I do promise bricks will be shat when it happens - and it WILL happen though!

"So, what's the weirdest thing that's ever happened to you, Spiky?"

 

"Waking up in another world…?"

 

"Oh, you know what I mean! 

 

"I don't think I can pin down just  _ one  _ thing, Varric."

 

"But you should try! Gimme  _ something,  _ Spiky."

 

Erevard groaned before falling silent; perhaps in thought to Varric's pestering. He had warned the man that Varric was an author - and Cassandra had followed up he was fishing for things to write about  _ already. _ Varric added that he had to write about the man from another world -  _ 'someone else would get it wrong',  _ he'd said.

 

Solas had remained silent along with Cassandra as they made their way to the Hinterlands. Varric, however, decided that the two day trip wouldn't be silent about an hour on the road. 

 

His first questions were about Erevard's friends back home, which earned him a hardened "No." from the man. Varric then switched his approach, asking instead about the more mundane.

 

How did he travel? What were other Elezen like? What other races walked Eorzea? Where did he live? Favorite food? Varric didn't run out of questions, and Erevard was actually answering them.

 

To varying degrees, of course. Solas could already recognize the telltale sign the Elezen was going to give a short answer. He'd make a sort of low grumble, or a sigh before remaining silent for a moment. Then, he would give a one or two word answer and Varric would accept it with a smile, and ask another. Some of the answers surprised Solas as well! Erevard explained he used the 'Aethernet' - which enabled him to teleport between places that held an Aetheryte; some sort of massive crystal. There were two types of Elezen; Duskwight and Wildwood. He was a Duskwight, and they had until recently lived underground in a place called Gelmorra. That got a hearty laugh out of Varric, who made a comment about how they were like dwarves, then. Erevard, of course, didn't know what that meant - which lead to him admitting he'd never lived in Gelmorra. Again, Varric laughed and said he was very much like the Elezen.

 

When it came to what else lived in Eorzea; he'd admitted that Eorzea was not their world, but a country. He wasn't even sure what beast tribes could be roaming about in regions he hadn't been to yet - and quickly listed the ones he knew. There were too many names to keep track of, shockingly. Non-beast tribes were a bit simpler, but again he admitted he wasn't sure of all of them. Elezen such as he, Hyur who resembled Humans closest, Roegadyn who were actually  _ larger _ than him, Lalafells who were very, very small and child-like in appearance (this earned a sound of confusion from the Seeker), Miqo'te, a cat-like humanoid race, Au Ra who looked like dragon-humanoids. When he introduced Garleans, similar to Hyur but taller and with a third-eye on their foreheads, he also mentioned they could not manipulate aether - and by extension, not use magic.

 

Cassandra mentioned that those were the people he mentioned when he woke up. Erevard nodded, saying they were at war with them.

 

"And how do you wage war on a people with no magic? I imagine they are not winning…" Solas asked.

 

The man shook his head, "They have technology, and Ascians. Gaius told us of a weapon that they are working on as well, that…" He paused, looking away from the group, " _ Black Rose _ , he called it. "To breathe it is to breathe your last." When Gaius was Legatus, he had ordered it's production halted and the experiment destroyed. For it to have come back…" 

 

There was a heavy silence that fell over the group after Erevard's words. Solas had, admittedly, been holding what little he knew of his world with a very  _ different  _ image than what Erevard had just dropped on them. And what was an Ascian? Now that silence had finally fallen and remained - Varric was probably not feeling up to more questions after that surprise - Solas launched into thinking about this. They have  _ technology _ that must rival anything this world has or has had - for even in his time, they could not produce such a thing  _ without _ magic. The idea that something could be made, that was capable of that horror… Best not to think of that for now.

 

As for the events today...

 

_ Both  _ of them surprised him. More so Erevard, after the bizarre experience last night.

 

Solas had successfully gotten alone time with the man; both to prod a little more and to reinforce the wards (that, granted, didn't quite need it yet - he was weaker than before but not  _ that  _ weak) to only be ushered out once they were alone.

 

The man had blatantly said he was feeling tired after the meeting, but there was something else… He  _ saw  _ something in that room that Solas could not, and it scared him. 

 

Solas had been behind him at the time and couldn't see his face, but the way his entire body practically bristled when he'd walked in? Then when the man turned to him, his eyes wild and tone of panic, Erevard made a hasty excuse that he was more tired than he thought, and  _ told _ Solas to leave. When Solas caught a glance at  the room behind Erevard, it was empty. 

 

Demons or Spirits were immediately ruled out, as Solas would have seen or at the very least, sensed something too. There really wasn't much else that would make sense. 

 

At least, on Thedas.

 

What could scare him that was from his own world? What could bridge the gap with him, and why did he hide it? Was his fear of what he saw, or  _ others  _ seeing what he saw? 

 

The last he'd spoken to Wisdom, they had only given cryptic warnings to leave the man alone. 

 

"Do not chase this one, my friend." 

 

Solas shook his head in quiet defiance.

 

"We have seen but a glimpse of that one; he is more dangerous than he appears."

 

_ Now  _ Solas had to bite back a laugh. More dangerous? After the magic display, how  _ dangerous _ he is wasn't a concern. He had power that no one in this age should have, and yet he says his world-

 

Wisdom looked at him sadly, craning their head to the side and frowning, knowing his thoughts, "You misunderstand. He is an exception even on his world. Stay. Away."

 

And then he'd found himself  _ thrown _ from Wisdom's domain. They had never done that before.

 

Something was wrong here, and now he was even more determined to find out what. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


They'd finally arrived at a small outpost of the Inquisition, where he could finally get a break from Varric's bombardment of questions. At first he didn't really want to answer them, but the dwarf was persistent. He wasn't being rude either, so he did answer what he felt like. Granted, Varric did stop a bit ago after  _ Black Rose _ was mentioned. At least he could sit down now?

 

Up until now, they'd been on foot for the journey to the outpost - once they'd arrived, he was given some time to eat and relax before they set out again in an hour.

 

After Varric's borderline interrogation, he wanted to be alone for a bit. 

 

Sadly, he was told to stay at the camp - then shown his horse he would now be riding to the next outpost in the Hinterlands.

 

He'd groaned, loudly. Gods, he wanted his chocobo back, not a horse! Cassandra asked him what was wrong, mildly annoyed already.

 

"I don't ride horses, I ride my chocobo. Horses are too fussy. Ugh…"

 

"A  _ what? _ "

 

Erevard explained; and the entire camp seemed to be listening in. Varric shouted from the fire nearby that you couldn't pay him to ride a giant chicken.

 

"A  _ chocobo!  _ Not chicken!  _ Mine  _ was able to fly too, you know." 

 

Now that earned him some unbelieving laughs, and that frustrated him. He threw his hands into the air in annoyance and gave up. He wasn't going to stay around and be ridiculed; especially not after the talk of home earlier!

 

Thankfully no one said anything else. He briefly wondered if he could call Midgardsormr here - probably terrify everyone in the process… And what if it was taxing on one of them? Probably best to test it if he needed it. Just… not here. Not yet.  Well, maybe  _ when  _ he needed it? But then what if the dragon  _ couldn't  _ come? If he waited until he needed him and there was no one coming… He tried to hold back the shiver that shook him, at the memory of Omega holding him prisoner; and Midgardsormr's timely rescue. He hadn't even  _ called  _ to him that time, too. Could the dragon see him all the way here? Would he have made contact already, if he could? 

 

Wherever that line of thought was going was abruptly stopped when Cassandra yelled for him to pack up - they were to be back on the road in a few minutes, and would be arriving at their destination by tomorrow afternoon.

 

_ "Back on the road we go, ready to march into another war?"  _ Fray whispered at the back of his mind; Erevard only sighed in response. The day he wasn't being thrown into a battle of some kind would be more than welcome - but that was all too far away for him.

 

* * *

  
  


If Varric had to tell someone about how Erevard fought with that axe of his a while back, he'd say, " _ Like a force of nature."  _

 

Watching him with his sword and shield? It was night and day. He was a  _ finesse  _ fighter - every attack was wide, arcing slashes. He even  _ spun  _ his entire body with some of his attacks, Varric watched as his sword tore right through some stupid Templar's armor when Erevard did that strange jumping spin. He'd torn through the mages and templars like nothing, just as he did with demons earlier. A man of his size  _ shouldn't  _ be able to move like that.

 

Just  _ what  _ was this man?

 

When the last of the rebels were dealt with, frightened refugees began to come out of hiding of the various buildings about. Well, the ones that weren't on fire. The damage to the village was… bad. 

 

Inquisition forces, their little group included, set to looking for the wounded and possible survivors. Varric was told to stick with Erevard and Cassandra; the sight of a famous author and the Seeker may help to ease some people towards the big guy.

 

A shame nothing was easing him. 

 

Before they'd come into the village, Cassandra had explicitly ordered him: "No. Magic."

 

Queue an argument, in the middle of camp. The poor scouts did  _ not  _ look happy, especially poor Scout Harding. She'd happily given them a quick rundown of the situation when they arrived, and Varric could tell she was a bubbly, reliable woman already. 

 

Then a minute after she neatly wrapped up her report, Erevard was having a full blown yelling match with Cassandra.

 

Varric liked to believe he was a good judge of character, and he immediately could tell both Erevard and the Seeker were both  _ incredibly stubborn _ , and were the type of people who were not going to back down from anything easily. 

 

Naturally, they clashed. Horribly.

 

" _ EVERYTHING  _ I do requires Aether, Cassandra! You want me to just hit them with my sword like some kind of-"

 

" _ YES!  _ You know how to use a sword, use it!"

 

"I am a  _ Paladin _ , we use aether to-"

 

"Then use your axe!"

 

"Oh what happened to: " _ Don't frighten the poor refugees, Erevard! Your big scary abilities will ruin the Inquisition if you do too much!"  _

 

It went back and forth like that for a while, until Solas suggested Erevard should fight as he is most comfortable. Cassandra relented saying he could use his magic if he needed to. Erevard grumbled some more, before agreeing.

 

It made Varric wonder how fast they'd of cleaned up if he  _ did  _ use his 'aether' and go all out. Then again, would he realy need to on a bunch of rebels? He'd literally thrown himself at a Pride demon before, what else could the man do?

 

But back to the situation at hand: Erevard had, apparently, healed a man back at the Temple basically from death's door step in the blink of an eye. Varric had been around Anders for long enough to have a good idea of how  _ absolutely impossible  _ that was for anyone here - even Anders. Yet, Erevard had done it in mere seconds. The more pressing matter at the Temple was saving Curly from a demon, so Varric had completely missed Erevard's little show. He'd only found out about it when Cassandra asked him on the road what he did. 

 

"I used a strong Cure spell? He wasn't dead, and if he was about to be I could just Raise him."

 

Cassandra's eyes narrowed and her expression turned to suspicion; "What do you mean…"

 

Erevard sighed, loudly. "Not raise like a necromancer - and yes we have that too but I have  _ never _ done it - I would try to bring his departed soul back. Though, now that I think of it… I could not do it the same as I would back home? There is no Lifestream here, unless I were to tap into your Fade?" He'd aimed the last part at Solas and the three launched into magic mumbo jumbo that gave Varric a headache, he'd honestly lost track of it after a while. 

 

So while they were walking around, surrounded by people equally close to death, he was  _ livid _ Cassandra forbade him helping.

 

Each person they passed, Erevard's expression got worse and worse. Varric wanted to explain to him that, yes,  _ some  _ people would rather die than have a mage try to save them, but he doubted it would help.

 

However, when they finally found Mother Giselle atop a hill trying to convince a man with his stomach torn open that a mage wanted to save him, and the man mumbled out "Don't let them use their magic on me…" Erevard lost it.

 

"I'm  _ tired  _ of this. Mother Giselle?"

 

The chantry woman nodded, her eyes wide looking to the Elezen. Varric had to wonder what stories the Chantry was feeding it's members of the Herald. At least she didn't scream and run away?

 

**_Swish_ **

 

Erevard was back in those ornamented white robes, his staff in hand and glowing, "Round up whoever  _ doesn't  _ want to die tonight and is okay with me healing them. I can save everyone in this village in a few minutes. This is ludicrous."

 

He spun on his heel, and went back down to the center of the village without another word. Well, that didn't leave room for argument from their now furious looking Seeker.

 

She, of course, still bolted after him and another yelling match started.

 

Varric had to give Mother Giselle some credit, though. She went straight to doing what Erevard had basically ordered her to do. Solas came after a couple of minutes to ask Varric what was going on.

 

"Spiky got pissed at all the dying people refusing magical help, he told Mother Giselle - and I stress,  _ told -  _ to round up the wounded who 'didn't want to die tonight' so he'd heal them, then stomped off, and-" Varric gestured to the scene below, with the two still arguing and refugees watching intently, "then  _ that." _

 

Solas looked to them below and raised an eyebrow, then crossed his arms over his chest. "He certainly is… tenacious."

 

Varric had to laugh, "Yeah… five silvers he makes everyone shit bricks?"

 

Now it was Solas who chuckled, "I may not gamble anymore, master Tethras, but even I know that he will be doing that for quite some time to come."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is already somewhat written out so it should be quicker than this one!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick-ish chapter because I have a problem.... you'll see what I mean.
> 
> Next one will have a certain enemy we encountered in the Hinterlands that Erevard is going to have a b a d time with. ;)

It took only a few seconds. A few seconds to heal almost fifty wounded bodies - in varying states of injury, no less. He mended burns, bruises and life-threatening wounds alike in a matter of seconds. One man in particular had been crushed by a wooden beam from a crumbling home, the healers were focused on just making his last moments painless. He was  _ going  _ to die in an hour, at most.

  
  


He stood among the wounded and dying, raised his staff aloft and, magic filled the air around them. Bright, vibrant flashes of silvery, white and blue sprung from Erevard, his magic overflowing into the wounded, and within seconds… Many of them were pulled from the brink of death, with barely a scar to even show from it. 

 

It was  _ impossible _ .

 

Yet, the thunderous cheering that accompanied Erevard's successful spells proved otherwise. The man barely even showed any sign of exhaustion from such a feat; a quick roll of his shoulders and stretching his neck from side to side like it was  _ nothing _ and he was on the move, checking in with the people who had just been healed - one by one. 

 

Cassandra watched, utterly silent after the argument she had with him. She and the others had made it clear he shouldn't use his magic at the risk of incurring more problems from the Chantry (and what would Ferelden and Orlais say when they caught wind of what he was?) and here he was - doing exactly what he agreed not to do. Maker, he was stubborn.

 

He had been furious walking through the broken village, this she knew. She couldn't exactly blame him either. If she had the ability to  _ stop _ this needless suffering, she knew that she would do whatever she could, too. No matter what anyone else thought.

 

And that was why she gave up arguing with him. The Chantry… Could they truly villainize him if he could save so many people?  _ Magic exists to serve Man.  _ Was he not using his magic to help people? She knew it was just too hopeful of her to think this. In reality, they would brand him some kind of monster and his foreign magic too powerful to be left around. Even she agreed it  _ was  _ powerful. 

 

And then there was the matter of 'Primals'.

 

How powerful was a  _ living God _ (not real - a poor copy, a fake, twisted image he'd said) when Erevard could perform such feats in a matter of seconds?  _ God Slayer _ , he'd said. Just what was Erevard? 'Warrior of Light' he said was his title-

 

"-andra? Cassandra!"

 

Erevard's shouting snapped her out of her thoughts, her eyes met his and he crosses his arms over his chest looking annoyed. "Some of the refugees have asked for some help around here," He didn't wait for her to respond, either. 

Just went right into a  _ list  _ of tasks he fully intended to carry out.

 

The people were starving, so a hunter asked for help hunting ram. Erevard agreed.

 

A man had come crying about his sick wife needing a potion to help her breathe, but their son, who had the recipe, had run off. Erevard would fetch the boy for the ailing woman.

 

An Inquisition soldier had given Erevard a crudely drawn map of where there may be supply caches from the rebel apostates.

 

The list went on for quite a while.  _ How  _ did he even remember all of it? 

 

"This is… rather menial, we do not-"

 

Erevard raised his hand to interrupt her, shaking his head, "It is, but these people need the help. I’m not even drained yet so we can go now.” He looked around the village for a moment before settling back on her, “How do you think I became a Warrior of Light, Cassandra?"

 

The question threw her off, she didn't even truly know what Warrior of Light was. Yet, "The  _ Primal _ slaying?" She whispered the words, no sense in risking anyone overhearing, even if they wouldn't know what a Primal was without explanation.

 

Erevard chuckled, "Well yes, but what do you think I was doing before that?" Her answer was a shrug. "Adventuring. Doing little things for the common folk. People at the bottom don't recognize you because you have a big fancy title - they won't  _ know  _ the big fancy title if some pompous nobles or higher-ups give it to you. It's your deeds at the bottom that get you to the top."

 

The glassy-eyed look of surprise from her spurred him on further, "People knew me by name in some corners of Eorzea before they knew me by Warrior of Light. I've done this business before, working up from nothing? Granted, I didn't have a title working against me like  _ now _ , but still."

 

**_Swish_ **

 

Erevard stood before her clad in the armor belonging to 'Bard', bow in hand and of course,  _ glowing _ . He shot her a grin and waved her to follow, "So, let's be off. I think a good place to start is the rams. Maybe we can find some other animals like deer or…"

 

He'd already started walking off without even checking if she was following. Again. They still hadn’t even spoken with Mother Giselle! 

 

_ Ugh! _

* * *

  
  


**Meanwhile, in the Imperial Palace…**

 

* * *

  
  


Even within this mortal flesh, Elidibus had quite keenly felt a disturbance in the Lifestream, that actually  _ shook _ him.

 

It took only a few moments for his peer to emerge, and confirm it wasn't just him who felt it.

 

_ "What in Zodiark's name did that moron do?" _

Demanded Emet-Selch, after nearly leaping out of his dark portal. "Tell me you felt that, Emissary."

 

Ignoring the obvious  jab at his weakness within this vessel, the Emissary nodded solemnly. Indeed, he felt  _ something  _ happen in the Lifestream, and he had received a report that the Warrior had collapsed just as the rest of the Scions - the timing of his collapse at the Ghimlyt Dark matched that of the disturbance.

 

Emet-Selch had confirmed a while ago that the Scions were indeed being Called away, but it was of minor concern at the time. On their own they were of no danger to the Rejoining; it was the Warrior they needed to keep an eye on. Doubly so, with how imminent the fall of the First was. If they could rid the Source of him with the Calamity… Well, victory  _ would _ be certain. 

 

"I felt something, though I am uncertain of what exactly he did. Did you see it, perchance?" 

 

The other Ascian nodded, his lips thinning before he spoke, eyes looking away from Elidibus. "I saw. He  _ was _ being Called, as was that Elezen girl, the remaining Scion. However…" Emet-Selch brought a gloved hand to tap at his chin and pause, undoubtedly for  _ dramatic effect _ . Elidibus did not share this ridiculous flare the other man always had. 

 

"She was Called to the First, but only in soul. I followed her thread after I realized that our little Warrior of Light was… Well…"

 

Elidibus was losing his patience now, he growled deep in his throat, Emet-Selch merely grinned. 

 

"He was not Called to the First successfully."

 

"Then why does his body remain? There is no soul, correct?"

 

Another nod, "Correct. I do not yet know  _ who  _ is Calling them, but something went horribly wrong with the Warrior. He was not Called, but rather  _ flung  _ somewhere. Horribly, horribly off-mark." His expression changed to one of amusement, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smile.

 

Even Elidibus was not expecting such a development, barely containing his own surprise from spreading across the Prince’s features. Still avidly trying to ignore the other Ascian’s ridiculous games and maintaining some seriousness to this, “Flung? Where?”

 

Another wicked grin from Emet-Selch, and a snap of his fingers to summon a portal behind him, “I intend to find out. Do not wait overlong for me, dear Emissary, I fully intend to take my time with this after you had the  _ gall _ to hide our little Warrior friend’s identity from me.” 

 

With a dismissive flourish of his hand, Emet-Selch stepped through his portal and vanished from the room, leaving Elidibus to wonder just what kind of trouble the last of his brethren would cause.

 

Lahabrea’s spats with the Warrior ultimately ended in thinning their numbers down to just two, after the fool had underestimated him. It was true that even Elidibus had not thought of the adventurer as a threat until he had felled not one, but  _ two _ Primals successfully. They had needed a change of plans quickly, and Lahabrea’s ‘crowning act of idiocy’, as Emet-Selch called it, was to possess one of the Scions. 

 

It was known that taking mortal vessels, especially living ones, weakened them considerably. Elidibus himself was currently wearing Zenos’ very  _ dead _ body and he was weaker than he should be. He couldn’t imagine what Lahabrea was thinking once he’d claimed the Scion’s body… But, it didn’t matter anymore. Lahabrea had lost, and Elidibus was not looking forward to seeing the same mistakes played out twice.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHM OP
> 
> So I've been debating for a while if I actually want to include SOME Shadowbringers stuff - which means I have to bump the tags up for that. Right now I've got a few one shots in another fic I've started that will include Erevard's journeys with our favorite Ascian Grandpa that won't make it into here because rat man absolutely DESTROYED ME...
> 
> I've been chatting with my friend Rhae who is partially beta-ing (I throw ideas at her and she says yes or no) AND she gave me a big YES for this but I kind of want to include Emet in some of the fic. I have ideas on HOW I am going to but the issue is do I really want to stretch/bend things that much; so I ask you guys if you'd like to see grandpa in here or leave him out. 
> 
> Next chapter will be still Hinterlands stuff though. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Hinterlands before we go back to Haven, and Erevard encounters a dragon for the first time - it goes absolutely horribly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Emet-Selch will absolutely be reappearing and I will be bumping all the tags for that. I removed Cassandra's romance because, after some consideration I think I may do a Dorian OR Emet-Selch kinda romance instead. Right now I'm leaning towards Emet and I will spoil it a bit but, since he's sooooo far away the tempering is like, almost nonexistant and he realizes that. So we'll see how it goes. :)

The conversation with Mother Giselle that Erevard had very nearly forgotten, up until Cassandra had practically dragged him over to the woman, left him in a bit of a sour mood.

 

The Chantry woman had told him to go and appeal to the Chantry in Val Royeaux in person - and gave him some speech about how their ‘rallying voice’ could be broken by him. They had strength in numbers, and he had strength in inspiring hope in the people. 

 

Erevard's idea to inspire the people took the form of performing any task anyone threw at him.

 

It had taken them well over a week to finish all the tasks Erevard had picked up from random refugees and soldiers of the Inquisition piling their little woes on him. Solas had always considered himself a champion of ‘the little people’ as Erevard called them too, but this was getting ridiculous.  _ A week. _ Running around doing mundane tasks - he had even agreed to 'rescue' some farmer's prized ram that 'brought the good luck'.

 

It turned into a demon once it looked at Erevard. _A demon_ that was _possessing_ a _ram._ Erevard had not even batted an eye at the utter ridiculousness of that, either. He merely shrugged and said, "Nothing surprises me anymore."

 

The meeting with the Horsemaster went about as well as his meeting with the Chantry woman, too. Some remarks about how they weren't expecting 'him': a kinder way to admit to being surprised at his appearance, though Dennett was much less careful with his wording…

 

And, they had closed several rifts this week. Solas finally saw the wards beginning to crack and dissipate. Not enough yet to need reinforcing, but it was wearing off. He would need to do it soon, if they found more rifts.

 

But the people’s reactions to him… It annoyed Erevard, of course. At camp he lamented how tired he already was of feeling like he didn't belong. He already stood out back home as Warrior of Light, but this was getting on his nerves being the  _ only  _ person from his own world here.

 

Which led to him chatting a bit about his 'Scion' companions, finally. 

 

The Leveilleur twins, both Elezen as he, two young, white haired geniuses of their own right. Having left home at a young age to follow in their grandfather’s footsteps (supposedly ‘Louisoix’ created the Scion organization) and shouldering his legacy. Alphinaud was basically the diplomat of the group, and Erevard admitted - definitely his impulse control sometimes. 

 

"He's stopped me from pummeling a few morons. He always tries words first. Always believes people are worth redeeming. Heart of gold, that one. I will be thinking of him when we go to Val Royeaux. I ask myself, ‘What would Alphinaud say?’ S'what  _ I'm  _ trying."

 

"Alphinaud sounds like a wise young man, then." The compliment from Solas very nearly made Erevard  _ beam _ with joy. 

 

"Aye, he is. Believe it or not, the first thing I remember is waking up to seeing the two napping on the cart to Gridania with me. Weird isn’t it? Like fate decided I needed to be there with them." He went silent for a moment as the proud smile faded, "Can't swim to save his life though, Alisaie on the other hand…" 

 

He told them a little story of crossing some place called 'The Ruby Sea', and how strong-willed and sure of herself Alisaie always was. Both the twins were spellcasters as well; Alphinaud being close to a Scholar and  Alisaie a Red Mage. Solas thought he sounded a bit like a proud father.

 

Then there was Thancred; a white haired Hyur (human, he corrected, though more for their sake than his) with a knack for espionnage. And a bit of a ladies' man, apparently. Though Erevard had never seen any of his ‘conquests’, apparently he was teased about it quite often. A man with rogue-ish charms - having grown up in the city of Limsa Lominsa as a rogue. Varric, obviously, wanted to hear more of him but Erevard moved on to the others.

 

Urianger, their resident bookworm, and another Elezen man with dark green hair. Erevard said the man was a genius but 'talked funny', and was  _ quite  _ a good actor after some ‘Warriors of Darkness’ business. He sadly did not elaborate, but Varric asked what he meant by 'funny'. 

 

With a loud clear of his throat, " _ Thou must returneth to the Waking Sands, prithee meet me-  _ Twelve, I just  _ can't _ . I don't know how he does it!" 

 

Y'shtola came next, a Miqo'te woman who also had white hair and another powerful caster. She was a no-nonsense type of woman, but with a gentle heart. He called her the mother of the group - and she could see aether unlike everyone else could. Strangely, he didn’t explain why, but he mentioned it. Something worth looking into, then?  

 

He spoke of many others; Minfillia, Riol, Hoary, Coultenet, Tataru, too many names to keep track of, and it was late in the evening - Solas was having a hard time keeping himself awake at this point. There was a moment where he thought that was because of how weak he was, but he  _ liked  _ sleeping. But he also liked hearing more from Erevard. The shocking part was that Erevard had admitted this was ‘just the Scions’; the organization he was a part of. There was still the Eorzean Alliance and all the leaders and people apart of that. To which he began listing even more names.

 

During the day he'd been rather quiet and focused intently on their little tasks, but at night he just  _ kept _ going.

 

Varric commented that he seemed to be a people person despite how he was 'getting on' in Thedas. Erevard looked hurt in response, turning away and averting his gaze to the campfire. With a sad smile he nodded and spoke about what being the ‘Warrior of Light’ meant; everyone knew his face because he’d done something that impacted their lives, afterall. Being Warrior meant he needed to speak with the higher-ups quite often, too. Especially during the Dragonsong War’s end where Ishgard was, apparently, re-integrated into the Eorzean Alliance. Solas remarked that perhaps he was more diplomatic than Erevard thought he was.

 

“Nah… I wasn’t at the meetings and all that shite.” 

 

Solas raised a brow curiously, “Why not?” Surely the ‘meetings’ would benefit from his presence, was an unspoken addition. 

 

Erevard huffed amusedly, then ran a gloved hand through his hair - his messy bangs fell over his eyes, and he did not look at them as he answered, “Long story. Not one I’m inclined to share yet.” He stood up, still looking away from them, “I’m going to go sleep now, good night, everyone.” 

 

Solas frowned and looked at the reactions of the other two - which matched his own. Something happened that upset him, that was certain, but what? 

 

This may be a setback in getting the man to open up, it wouldn’t be surprising if he was now reluctant to share more. Disappointing, really, as Solas did want to genuinely know more of the man’s life. How many chances would one get to speak with a visitor from another world, afterall? 

 

Varric looked just as upset, his features showed disappointment; no doubt he felt the same as Solas, in a way. Cassandra too, frowned and was chewing at her lip nervously. He would hear them if they said something about this, so Solas opted to retire for the evening as well.

 

There would be more work for tomorrow, anyways. Cassandra had been informed there was a nearby camp that they had marked for the Inquisition a few days ago that was finally up and running - but they had requested help as soon as possible. So, that was where they were headed in the morning. 

 

* * *

  
  
  


Erevard was beginning to recognize landmarks within the Hinterlands. The signs on the roads helped as well, but he usually followed behind Cassandra and Varric when they were headed to specific areas - today he recognized the rocky outcrop before the camp they had marked a few days ago. 

 

The camp itself was situated at the mouth of a cave that led into a wide, open area connected to a river. A small canyon, really. They hadn’t had the time to explore the canyon if anything was worth grabbing from it; Cullen had apparently requested that they keep an eye out for ores for weapon and armor making and mark it upon their maps. Erevard mentioned they should do a quick scan of the area before they left after helping the camp out.

 

Which raised the question, what was it the camp needed help with, anyway? Cassandra wasn’t mentioning it, but she obviously knew. When they had asked her, she merely would reply with “You’ll see.” 

 

It was bothering him. Sure, he went into fights and trouble all the time blindly, but he never really enjoyed it! Why would Cassandra be hiding it?

 

As they rounded the corner into the mouth of the cave, a soldier - a human woman - rushed over to them, her eyes blown wide and her breathing a bit laboured.

 

“Lady Cassandra, we’re glad you’re here! The dragon has-”

 

_ “Dragon?”  _ Stammered Erevard, mildly annoyed already.

 

Cassandra’s sneer cut the woman off, and she gulped loudly. 

 

Erevard, however, matched Cassandra’s sneer while looking at her. “A dragon. Why couldn’t you  _ say _ it was a dragon? Why keep it a secret?” 

 

“Because it is a  _ beast _ , Herald, I do not want you to risk your life trying to speak-”

 

That wasn’t the right thing to say. 

 

“I am a veteran of the Dragonsong War and the one who helped  _ end it _ , Cassandra. I swore to myself and  _ the very dragons I was fighting both with and against _ , I would not harm one of their kind again unless I absolutely have to. They are not beasts-”

 

“That is on YOUR world, Herald! We have never, ever seen such a thing from a dragon here! Do not risk letting your guard down!” Cassandra snapped back, looking at him over her shoulder as the poor soldier watched with frightened eyes. Her eyes narrowed at him, “One way or another, we need the dragon gone from these lands. It poses a risk to the recovering settlement that you’ve been trying to help all week. We cannot let all that work be for nothing. This may ease tensions with Redcliffe, as well.”

  
Some of the anger he felt deflated. She had a point, he had to admit. Redcliffe was the Ferelden city that was nearby, wasn’t it? 

 

He sighed loudly before admitting defeat, but insisted he be allowed to speak to the dragon first and foremost. The poor soldier looked utterly baffled and didn’t really comment, save from a salute and showing them to the little valley they had not yet explored.

 

It did look pretty different, now suddenly littered with what had to be baby dragons, angrily hissing and snapping at their intrusion. 

 

They had been there at night the last time they passed here, and that was one of the reasons why they had neglected to explore further. Too dark to see anything, and it would be important to know what kind of wildlife was in the area as well. 

 

Of course, they wouldn’t have expected a dragon, but still. A mother dragon, no less, if the hoard of dragonlings was any indication… Erevard had ideas already of what he could say, perhaps making an appeal for the good of the children she could avoid the settlements? 

 

It wasn’t going to be that simple, though. It never was.

 

The mother had arrived, presumably at the behest of the very, very angry dragonlings crying out as they stared into the valley. She landed on a cliffside nearby, tilting her head with a curious look to them; sizing them up, before unleashing a roar that made his ears ring. It was unlike that of Nidhogg or Hraesvelgr, high-pitched and ear-splitting in tone instead of deep and powerful like dragons he knew of. 

 

Varric coughed nervously, “Well, knock yourself out Spiky, we’ll uh… Be here when shit inevitably goes south.” 

 

Erevard groaned and rolled his eyes at the dwarf, but made his way down the little rocky steps that seperated the party from truly being  _ in _ the valley. There really wasn’t much point in arguing with them, too. Varric’s comment wasn’t welcome at all, but he would prove them wrong.

 

The dragonlings hissed and snapped their jaws in a display to scare him off, but he would not be deterred by them, if anything their reaction spurred his determination to see this through. Erevard raised his eyes to meet the mother, who had lowered her head and raised her hind much like an alarmed cat. With a deep breath, his voice boomed across the valley, “Noble dragon, we have come to speak with you!” 

 

She roared, baring her teeth at him. He took a moment to really examine the dragon before him and see the differences in the two worlds: the most noticeable was her shape was widely different from back home. She resembled Vidofnir in body shape, but was much more slim. The eyes were not nearly as large, which made him think they must not carry their strength within them like back home. Her tail was much thicker as well, and her colouring predominantly a bright yellow with a green pattern along the upper part of her body. The underbelly, neck and chin were the same green as the pattern as well, and she had spikes along her chin and her spine, starting from the top of her head. Lastly, her horns were pointed to her back instead of curling into the front of her head. Still very much a dragon, just… different. The size was at least familiar enough.

 

He felt a light brush at the back of his mind, Fray, letting him know he was watching now. The concern was comforting, at least. 

 

There was another hiss as he took another step forward, and he noted the dragonlings were also mimicking the mother’s body language. Were they understanding him, at least…? 

 

“I am Warrior of Light, friend to the Dragons of-”

 

His Echo gave him the warning that he was about to get hit by  _ something _ , and he pulled his shield up and channeled his aether to the front of it- 

 

The force of the fireball pushed him back a few feet, but thankfully, nothing got through his aether; just some residual heat lingered, and fire began to consume the grass where he had just been standing. The mother roared again before beating her massive wings to launch herself into the air.

 

He saw the shimmer that he had learned was a barrier from Solas appear over his body, and a bolt flew from behind him into the neck of a dragonling - which, they were now approaching him with their jaws snapping. 

 

Cassandra was at his side, yelling at him to get up, her shield and sword in hand already, eyes darting between him and the oncoming dragonlings. In the distance, the mother roared again and the flapping of wings was getting louder.

 

_ “Diplomacy failed. Looks like you’re killing it.”  _ Fray said flatly, clearly not as upset as he was feeling right now. 

 

**_Swish._ **

 

It had been a few years since he’d needed to do this, but it would always come back to him naturally. Dragoon was too comfortable of a Soul Crystal for him, having risen to Warrior of Light as one. Sure, he was best at dealing with monsters (and to him, monsters in the form of people) with it, but dragon-slaying came quickly enough. Especially with Estinien to get on his case whenever he did something the other Azure Dragoon deemed ‘wrong’. In truth, he appreciated it when the man corrected him. Whatever it took to end the job quickly, was what he wanted.

 

Sadly, with the amount of dragonlings running amok on his companions, he could not afford to tangle with the mother alone. He would need to clear out some of the…  _ children.  _ Another thing he wasn’t new to, after raiding the Aery… But it hurt. It hurt more than it should. 

Perhaps Cassandra was right, he thought as he pierced the first dragonling that had thrown it’s body onto the Seeker’s shield, maybe they were just beasts. Maybe they didn’t even know what he just said.

 

_ “Stop moping and clean it up before your friends get hurt, Ere.”   _

 

Solas had frozen two of them that were getting a bit too close, though Erevard quickly noticed they were very much surrounded by a ring of dragonlings, and the mother was flying directly to the north of them-

 

Another Echo flash, he saw the outline of what he now knew would be another fireball coming straight towards Solas and Varric a few malms away and yelled, “MOVE!” 

 

The elf and dwarf scattered just in time for the blast of flame to barely miss them, it was accompanied by another roar - probably of frustration from the beast. Cassandra had shattered the two frozen ones and was about to be attacked by another from her left flank, before Erevard swung his lance at the thing’s head, cutting it off cleanly. 

 

There was a chorus of whines from the others - and Erevard knew that  _ maybe  _ he could frighten them off without killing anymore of them- 

 

Another flash, this time different to the fireball, directly on them,  _ massive  _ and where was the mother? Directly on top of them- “Cassandra, OUT NOW!” He lowered his body, his knees bending for the Jump to avoid the oncoming attack.

 

But she hesitated, looking at him with confusion, and the dragonlings had fanned out giving the area a wide enough berth the size of the mother; before she came crashing down on them. The force of the dragon landing knocked Cassandra a fair way away, sending her flying. Erevard had leapt into the air before the dragon landed, raising his lance and twisting his body in the air to propel himself into the dragon’s weak point - the back of the head. 

 

Part of this technique was knowing your body, but the other part was Aether manipulation. His spear lit up with aether, putting more force behind the spin and then  _ launching  _ himself forward, pushing himself off the small pad of blue aether he created at his feet, surging the remainder of the spell into the tip of his lance. The spear pierced and the dragon shrieked in pain, he had a second to glance back at his party, and saw Solas tending to Cassandra while Varric was loading his crossbow with more bolts - the dragonlings were, thankfully, leaving them alone.

 

Cassandra was sitting up, wincing, and holding her arm. Not good. Solas had his hands hovering over what must have been a dislocation or something, too hard to see from here. 

 

The dragon decided the moment was up and bucked when his feet hit it’s back, screaming again with sparks of flame coming from its mouth. She wouldn’t be able to reach him here, but her wings had started flailing, attempting to bat him off, her tail following suite in panic. 

 

He sunk the lance deeper and twisted, another ear-splitting shriek tore itself from the dragon’s throat before the wings and tail stopped moving, the body following as life drained itself from the poor beast. She made a noise like a soft growl, and then her entire body slumped. Erevard leapt off what was about to be a corpse, landing in front of her to see if it would be over quickly. 

 

She fell over on her side, tail tucked close and wings collapsing over her back, much like a spider’s legs would curl in as it died. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to kill her. Didn’t want her to die like this.

 

She looked at him, her eyes struggling to stay open, a pained whine came from deep within her throat, and then she went still. 

  
  


Gods, he hated Thedas.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. :) Combat is so hard to write and I was legit watching the SHB trailer over and over for the Dragoon bit lol


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going back to Uni now and currently have.....4 Wips I am posting. things are going to get updated but I am not promising super fast ones. sorry yall ;-; 
> 
> That being said I have started Pieces of Him and Imperfect which are all Erevard stuff - so if you like him, there's more of him! Anyway, onto the chapter!

Solas did one last quick glance over Cassandra's injuries; her arm had dislocated and needed to be popped back in place, and a few ribs and her back were going to have some large bruises. But it would heal in a few days, for fighting a dragon this wasn't bad at all.

 

Then again, Erevard had done most of the work. Solas had seen him leap onto the Pride Demon in the same fashion, but the demon was much smaller than a dragon, and _grounded_. The man had leapt into the sky, nearly matching the dragon's altitude before she landed, and landed on her back for a fast kill. He wasn't lying when he said he was something of an expert dragon-slayer. And if dragons were not simply beasts back in his world, what would an intelligent creature do to combat him? 

 

Another question that would have to remain unanswered. There was no way he could ask that anytime soon; not with how Erevard was staring at the corpse of the dragon.

 

His fists were clenched tightly, one holding the massive bloodied spear, and the other at his side. It was impossible to see more than his mouth underneath the Dragoon helm he wore, but Solas could make out a clenched jaw and thin lips at least. 

 

Cassandra stood up with a pained grunt, taking a step in his direction before Varric said, "No."

 

Cassandra glanced over her shoulder, looking part confused and part angry. 

 

"Let him come, he's not happy right now Seeker." Varric shook his head sadly. 

 

She did wait, sitting back down in the grass and rubbing at her shoulder. Solas would ask Erevard to help set it, if he was calmed down enough.

 

It took him a few more minutes of silent staring, before he closed his eyes and inhaled loudly, removed his helm, then made his way over to them. The anger in his eyes was still very much present, and only intensified when he looked at Cassandra and sneered. 

 

"When I say move, you _move._ No questions. No hesitation. You _move._ " He spun on his heel, tone utterly dismissive, blue light flashing over him as he switched back to his usual Paladin gear. 

 

"Why?" Cassandra asked. 

 

Erevard's shoulders tensed and he didn't turn around, "Because I didn't tell you everything about the Echo. And I'm not about to."

 

That was the last thing he said to them before he stomped off in the direction of the camp, sparing one last sorrowful glance at the dragon and her dead children. 

 

Well, at least until he met his first Despair Demon.

 

* * *

  


They had to wait for Cassandra to fully heal before tackling rifts. It was half Cassandra's orders, half Erevard refusing to put regular soldiers at risk of Demons when he could deal with them. There were only a handful left that littered the Hinterlands, and most of them were quick to deal with - especially with Erevard's combat expertise. Varric still wasn't sure if he was terrified of what he could do or impressed, but he could at least say he was _very_ happy he was on their team. 

 

The only problem was his mood was still absolutely terrible. They had been spending the three days Cassandra was healing lounging at camp, and Erevard remained tight lipped and snappy at all of them. He wouldn't approach any of them, and he would answer in one or two word sentences - unless you drew him into an argument, to which each of them would leave him alone to avoid worsening his mood. But today Cassandra was feeling well enough to tackle the remaining rifts, and the last one to deal with was the one near the stream across Dennett’s farmland. They had initially intended to deal with it upon their first arrival to the horsemaster’s land, but saw that it was inactive and not a priority to deal with at the time. The plan today was to swing by, deal with the rift, ask Dennett if he needed anything else and finish up the plans for the watchtowers - then head back home with the promise of the horses to come soon after. (Which Erevard had grumbled about once they were far from being heard, still lamenting his ‘Chocobo’.) 

 

The rift was still stable when they arrived, but a simple freaky magic-hand pull would open it and they could seal it for good. Frankly, all of Erevard’s wacky magic made his head hurt. He took to using that Mark incredibly quickly, despite having popped in _from another world_ where _that_ magic didn’t exist; and that was all on top of having his own types of magic. Did that make it easier to learn the Mark? Did that make it harder? Magic was weird. Erevard was kinda weird. Demons suck. Blah blah blah.

 

He opened the rift, and out came the usual batch of demons: some wraiths, some shades, a Rage or two, but this time there was a new one: Despair. 

 

Varric had seen a good amount of Demons in his lifetime, especially dealing with the Breach and just following Hawke around on her adventures, they just didn’t have the same effect on him anymore. Spooky demon comes out of rift? Time to put a bolt between its eyes and move on with his day. Too bad it wasn’t going to be that simple.

 

The moment the Despair demon manifested, it _locked_ on to Erevard, an unholy screech coming from its ghastly maw. Erevard froze, eyes wild and lip trembling. Varric was too busy picking off the shades, having to reload when he noticed Erevard had stopped moving. Cassandra was in the middle of blocking the molten blows of a Rage demon, stepping away to put distance. Solas was also busy, maintaining barriers and freezing down the Rage on Cassandra. 

 

Erevard _still_ wasn’t moving, the Despair demon _grinned,_ it’s freakish rodent-like mouth’s corners twisted upwards, and it began to inch closer, ice gathering around it’s long, talon-like hands, another screech ripped through the air and Erevard matched it with his own pained scream. His hands flew to the sides of his head, gripping tightly over his ears, trying to block out the sound even long after it ended. His sword and shield fell uselessly to the ground next to him, and Varric could swear the damned Demon laughed - a massive shard of ice floated behind it, and one of those massive talons flew up, ready to aim. 

 

The Demon had gotten into his head. Something was wrong. He was stronger than this- 

 

**_Swish_ **

 

Erevard’s clothing changed into a set he’d never seen before, it clicked later he was _hiding_ this from them, and it made sense as to why he would.

 

His head snapped up and he was furious. A weapon - and Varric knew it was a weapon by sight because what else would Erevard point at a demon - he had never seen before in his life was held up in one hand, Erevard’s finger lay over a trigger at the bottom of a barrel of sorts, he aimed as the Demon shrieked again in frustration at its prey breaking loose and pulled. There was a spark of light from the barrel of whatever it was - it looked similar in function to Varric’s crossbow, but nothing near a bolt or arrow came from it - and the Demon… Had a sizeable hole where it’s forehead used to be. The noise from firing the weapon had been incredibly loud, like a brief clap of thunder that left his ears in pain. 

 

Before Varric could snap himself out of whatever trance he was in, Erevard was already firing off more shots of that terrible weapon. His hearing went out completely for a few seconds, and he clapped his hands over them in shock at the pain and ringing. He winced from the sensation and lowered his head, and when he looked back up, Erevard was already in the process of closing the rift. Their other two companions didn’t fare much better, and even Solas wasn’t looking composed right now - more furious than anything, his face red, jaw clenched and one eye tightly shut - he was in pain from the noise, too. Cassandra seemed the best of the three, considering Varric was the closest to him and Solas had stronger hearing than them being an elf, she merely glared daggers at Erevard. Probably about to launch into him for hiding something like _that_. 

 

Erevard looked worse than he did back at the dragon. He had doubled over in the time that Varric had looked away, one hand clutching his chest while the other held his weight with his knees on the ground. 

 

“Spiky, you alright?” Varric asked, his voice a bit hoarse from the shock still. He saw Cassandra coming over, and needed to say something before she did. 

 

Erevard shook his head, still kneeling on the ground, his breaths slow and heavy. “No… No I’m not…” 

 

Cassandra reached him, looking down at him, still frowning. His eyes darted to her boots, and when he looked up at her, she offered a hand. He took it with a nod and stood up with help, rubbing at his eyes after strapping his weapon into his belt; there seemed to be a leather holster of sorts. Now Varric could finally get a good look at him, too.

 

He wore a black leather headband with two, bright red goggles that were currently sitting on his forehead. His chestpiece consisted of two parts: a white V neck shirt with large sleeves that were tucked into cuffs, attached to black and red gloves that started just below his elbow. The collar was popped, and the second part was similar to an apron of sorts. Flowing down on his left and adorned with a few pouches, one was larger than the other two and were all black with intricate golden designs, as usual. The lower half was attached with a black sash around his hips, and the inside of it was a dark red. 

 

When he stood up, he didn’t meet Cassandra’s gaze. She looked at him sadly and shook her head, “I will ask you to explain, but not now. Let us return to camp and we will speak of this when you are ready.” 

 

Erevard didn’t answer, just nodded and switched back to his Paladin garb and followed her back to the camp. 

 

Varric breathed a small sigh of relief. At least the Seeker wasn’t going to push him yet. But, he had a bad feeling about this. 

 

* * *

 

It took them longer than before to get back to Haven, and he still didn’t feel any better than before. 

 

The dragon’s unnecessary death still haunted him. Still had him full of regret for even walking into that. He’d gone over every possible ‘maybe’ already and it would just make his head hurt all over again if he let that train of thought wander. But then there was his encounter with the Despair Demon…

 

That thing had _screamed_ at him, and instead of hearing the screams of a Demon, he heard the screams of his friends. Their dying screams. Screaming his name in curses at failing them. Screams that, now that he was in control of his head again, knew never happened. He heard _Haurchefant_ screaming in pain and froze. A damned Demon almost got the best of him with a couple of screams - but when he saw it inching closer he snapped out of it in time to shoot the bloody thing in its ugly head.

 

He had planned to keep the gun out of the picture for a while still, but it was his first reaction and now he had to live with it. 

 

And now he was sitting in the meeting room at the war table with a bunch of angry Humans staring him down and they were asking about the damned gun. Leliana was ranting about it, of course. 

 

“The closest thing we have in Thedas to that level of weaponry is Gaatlok, and it is Qunari. If the Chantry were to-” 

 

Erevard really wasn’t in the mood for this, he slammed his hands into the table and stood up, interrupting Leliana and forcing their eyes on him. “I am not going to use the blasted gun again, understood? I panicked. I know I panicked. Find an expert in the gods forsaken field of whatever it is to you people, and then I’ll let them tinker with it. I’m not risking one of you idiots blowing your head off with it. _I_ didn’t build the damn thing, Stephanivien gave it to me. An Ishgardian noble, by the way! _It’s a gift.”_

 

Leliana glared at him, her lips tightening and brow furrowing. “I will find an expert, and you will hand it over to her so she may study it.”

 

“Is than an order or a deal?”

 

“A deal.”

 

The fact that Leliana said ‘she’ meant the spymaster already had someone in mind. “Deal.” They didn’t shake on it, but Leliana smiled in response. She was cocky, he had to give her that. Or very sure of herself.

 

Well, now he was a bit worried…

 

Cullen thanked him for the horses before going over what they still had to do for the outposts, but once they were done the horselord would be sending over several batches as soon as possible. Josephine told him they received numerous letters of thanks to the Herald for his work in the Hinterlands and said that so far, nothing was being said negatively about his mass-healing job at the village. Leliana commented with a ‘yet’, but that she would keep an eye out for it.

 

Cassandra stayed quiet most of the meeting, but asked him to speak to Solas about the Despair Demon. She didn’t press what happened, but merely stated that it would be a good idea to speak to an expert on how to guard oneself for next time. He had to admit, it was a little bit of a blow to his pride, but he would go see the mage. 

 

The last part of the meeting was that he was set to go to Val Royeaux after tomorrow. One day of rest, then they would go to the den of Orlesian nobles. 

 

_Wonderful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to be done a bit differently than what I usually do, just a heads up! :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Val Royeaux speedrun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to move the story along cause we're getting to 40k words and still not even at the meat of the story @.@ Also I had originally intended for Erevard to be pro-Templar just to spice things up, but, opted out of it when I said 'wait I should put Echo business in here'. And what better way to do it than FREAK HIM OUT WITH MORE DEMONS?! Also I may include more 'letters', it was kinda fun to write it and Erevard is definitely being taught naughty words by Varric and using them cause EVERYTHING SUCKS.
> 
> Edit: I noticed Google Docs once again did not copy over some formatting so I fixed it, sorry guys!

Erevard was given another brief rundown of what to expect from Val Royeaux, a list of who to speak with and what he should look for. He rested for two days at the insistence of Varric and Solas, and then they were off to Val Royeaux.

 

“You’re sending him to a viper’s nest, you know that, right?” Varric had cornered Cullen the morning they were leaving, nudging him to get his attention as they were saddling up and were being seen off. 

 

“ _I_ wouldn’t send him there if I had the choice, but we don’t. He has to go, much as I would like to spare him that.” Cullen admitted it freely, knowing the Orlesians were not going to be tight lipped about his appearance - and his role within the Inquisition was already a complication as it was. 

 

Still, he had to go. Cullen couldn’t fight it, but he could at least apologize for it’s necessity. Erevard didn’t seem to really care, only offering him a frown and a shrug, then they were off. He briefly wondered if that was his facade or if he really _didn’t_ care; he had expressed experience with nobles once before of a land called Ishgard, but he’d been in a bit of a sour mood since his return. Cassandra had recounted the dragon and the demon that got to him, and Cullen could sympathize on the demon part quite well. 

 

They had advised the Herald to start writing his own reports back to them after the incident in the Hinterlands, and although he complained at first, he agreed. His reports were not usually very detailed, sometimes only a few lines, as he was sending one every day of four days it took them to reach Val Royeaux. The one they received this morning from the day’s events in Val Royeaux, however, was incredibly long in comparison. 

 

Even without hearing the man’s voice, they could tell he was not at all happy in the report. 

  


* * *

  


_Leaders of the Inquisition,_

 

_Val Royeaux was a fucking shitshow._

 

 _Cassandra is urging me to write about what happened,_ ~~_as she is currently rather upset about how that asshole_~~ _as she wants me to keep practising making reports._ _~~Varric is also yelling at me not to use ‘colourful language’...~~ _ _The situation in Val Royeaux is worse than we initially anticipated. The Lord Seeker is_ ~~_fucking insane_~~ _acting very strangely. Cassandra says he has never behaved as he did today - and what I saw confirms this is not the same man Cassandra knew. I will explain during the next meeting, what happened would be best to keep out of a letter. Needless to say, the Templars may be off the table for now. I would like to request something of Cullen upon my return, though. I believe there may be a few within the Order who could be swayed to join us. Once again, I will elaborate when we return._

 

_I have also spoken with Madame Vivienne; she will be coming to Haven shortly behind us. She has told me she has some last minute business to attend to, and will arrange to have some of her belongings brought with her. If Josephine could set up the rest with the Madame, I would be grateful._ ~~_I don’t think she likes me and she seems like a bit of a bitch._~~

 

 _There is also another we will be adding to the Inquisition’s roster, an elf named Sera. Have Leliana investigate the ‘Red Jennies’ - this is the group Sera claims to be a part of; they are basically a spy network of ‘normal people’ and ‘friends’_ ~~_and all sorts of bullshit_~~ _... Frankly, Sera’s explanation made my head hurt. Ask her. She will be returning with us._

 

_Lastly, I was approached by someone within the rebel mages. I have been asked to attend a peace talk at Redcliffe with the mages - they are open to negotiations. I intend to go immediately upon returning to Haven. With the Seeker’s actions showing us that the Templars are simply out of the question for now, we may as well see what the mages are offering. Cassandra has agreed with me, and I trust that none of you will take issue with it, either._

 

 

  * __Erevard.__



 

 

Cullen finished his reading of the letter and dropped it onto the war table with a sigh. “Well, looks like Varric is already teaching him new words…” 

 

Josephine smiled nervously and Leliana rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips. “He’s been recruiting. This bodes well for his reputation, and that he is becoming more comfortable in Thedas. Although…” She paused, crossing her arms over her chest and the amused expression now replaced with concern. “I am worried about what he says of the Templars. He said ‘he saw’ something. Do you think it is his ‘Echo’ at work here?” 

 

“We will have to remain patient and see. Though I am rather glad he has managed to turn Madame Vivienne to our side, her presence will be a boon to our reputation.” Josephine added, scribbling some words down on her notes she always carried with her. 

 

There wasn’t much more to add other than their concerns at this point. Erevard had recounted to them that with his Scions, what the Echo gave him was what they worked with - it did not err. What exactly did he see? 

 

They got their answer when he returned.

 

* * *

  


Erevard knew he looked like shit, he didn’t feel much better, either. When they’d finally walked through the gates into Haven, he let out a heavy sigh. This would never truly be home to him, like Eorzea was, but it was close enough that he felt utterly relieved to be back. Val Royeaux had drained him, so much that he even felt physically exhausted after they’d left. Sera had begun to get on his nerves almost immediately - she kept complaining that he was too moody and broody, but thankfully Cassandra and Varric had talked her out of pestering him after his first snap at her. Solas seemed equally annoyed - it made him feel better he wasn’t the only one to feel that way. 

 

The advisors had spoken to him about recruiting before he’d left; how he was the face of the Inquisition right now, and people may come to him wishing to join. He would need to be the judge of their characters, and they would allow him to recruit for his ‘inner circle’. Currently that consisted of Cassandra, Varric and Solas - but he would need more people as they needed to grow. Vivienne was to be a great boon to the Inquisition, and she had actually reached out to them first. Josephine had explained that she was basically the leader of ‘Loyalist’ mages in Orlais. If they got her on their side, they got more mages; and the Inquisition looked better to those outside it. 

 

Unfortunately, meeting Vivienne meant he had to attend some ridiculous ‘party’ riddled with pompous Orlesians. He now fully understood why everyone (mostly Fereldens) ranted about them. They were pompous peacocks, basically. All of them wore masks and he couldn’t even see their facial expressions, too! The worst part is that they were making him miss Ishgardian nobles; he’d shuddered at the thought initially, but now? 

 

 _Fuck it, I can admit Orlesians really are worse._ He thought to himself.

 

When he’d walked in, the entire room went silent and all eyes fell onto him. The comments about him being a ‘giant elf freak’ and ‘look at the size of that rabbit’ didn’t escape him; but he had to shrug them off. Some little man with an even smaller brain had tried to duel him, which he accepted immediately with glee; but then came the Madame. She actually froze him on the spot and went off about his aunt’s gift to him, and the little man practically ran like a dog with his tail between his legs. When they’d finally gotten the chance to speak one on one, he knew he wouldn’t like her in the long run. Still, he played the part of recruiting her. The advisors would be happy. Well, Josephine and Leliana would be. He very much doubted Cullen would give Vivienne the time of day. 

 

Sera’s recruitment was easy enough and a nice distraction. Though, the little chase with the arrow and red parchments was annoying. The fact that she had managed to steal away all the guard’s pants was good enough to make up for it, though. She, of course, had a remark about him being a ‘weirdy’, even if it wasn’t malicious it irked him. Still, she was good with a bow and had a good heart; they could agree on working together ‘for the little people’ as she called them. 

 

Now they were returning to Haven with Sera in tow and Vivienne was set to arrive a day or two after them, and now he had to explain just what his Echo vision showed him.

 

He knew he was seeing some sort of Demon once he was launched into the memory, but what kind, he had no idea at the time. It was freakishly tall, lithe, lacked any sort of scales or clothing and even lacked eyes. It had pale, glossy, almost white skin, two sets of long arms - one sitting where arms _should be_ and then another, smaller set underneath those arms. At first glance it looked like it’s upper body sat on the torso of another body, and the lack of a face was the worst part. The demon had no ears either, and it’s head resembled a person’s _enough_ in shape, aside from the little rows of teeth that decorated the massive red gashes across it’s skull where eyes and hair should have been. If Erevard had been capable of shuddering, he would have. Demons were awful creatures and were making him miss Voidsent, of all things… There was a stray thought that Thedas was going to make him think that a lot. 

 

After questioning Solas on the road of what exactly he may have seen, the mage confirmed that it was probably a demon of Envy. 

 

“They are quite rare, and behave differently to most demons. Envy is never satisfied, they often isolate individuals they seek to become and study them at length. This study goes on until they are satisfied and can take on the appearance of the victim, to _become_ them. It seems the Lord Seeker caught the interest of one. The victim is usually disposed of after the transformation occurs, to avoid anyone catching on to the swap.” 

 

Erevard made a face of disgust and mild horror at the thought. From what he’d seen in the Echo vision, it was plainly obvious the Lord Seeker had made some exchange with the demon, but as to what? He had no idea. Was the Seeker dead, then? Did it matter at this point? 

 

He was given an hour to eat and settle in again, and then they were off into a meeting so he could explain. Once he pushed open the door into the War room, everyone else was already gathered and sitting around the table. Cullen acknowledged him with a nod, as did Leliana, Josephine waved with a smile. 

 

Cassandra was the only one standing, tapping her boot against the wood floor anxiously, her hands on her hips. “I have told them what transpired in Val Royeaux, but you should explain your Echo.”

 

He nodded, pulling up one of the wooden chairs and sitting down in it before launching into his vision. “Solas says I saw an Envy Demon essentially taking the form of the Lord Seeker. I believe the ‘Seeker’ we saw in Val Royeaux was the Demon itself  as well. Cassandra can vouch, as well as Varric and Solas that once my Echo ended, the Seeker gave me an odd look and left pretty quickly after that. I think it knew, which concerns me greatly.” He paused, gauging everyone’s reactions - Cullen and Leliana did not look happy whatsoever, and Josephine was scribbling down whatever he was saying, probably. 

“Back home, everyone knows enough of me to know the Echo. Here? How would a Demon know of it? Unless it felt it, perhaps?” 

 

“Have you asked Solas what he thinks of this?” Leliana asked.

 

He nodded, “I have. Demons and Spirits behave differently than people, obviously. Perhaps the Demon did feel something, which… Is not good. Regardless, we cannot approach the Templars.” 

 

Cullen stood up suddenly, his chair’s legs scraping against the wood loudly as he pushed it back, “We can’t leave them under the control of a Demon-”

 

“No, we can’t, but if they cannot see a Demon right under their noses like that? And now the Demon probably knows that we know? We _can’t,_ Commander.” Erevard hated being the voice of reason, but that Demon definitely knew something was going on. The ‘Seeker’ had shot him a look of _hate_ when he came to. It knew. 

 

“If we were to rid the Order of the Demon, perhaps our chance to bargain for-” 

 

“ _No.”_ Cullen interrupted Leliana almost immediately. She frowned and let out an exasperated sigh, leaning forward in her seat to rest her chin against her hands. 

 

Erevard didn’t like how Cullen was so pro-Templar. If they were unable to see a Demon that close to themselves, did they really want them joining the Inquisition? Worse, this Demon was in a leader position! “ _Lest we forget,_ the Rebel mages have requested a meeting and I’ve yet to see anything going on with them. For now, I think it would be wise to dismiss the Templars until we learn more. I will go meet the mages in Redcliffe.” 

 

He realized after he said it, he was very much declaring his intent and not asking them permission, but they seemed to be alright with it. Both Leliana and Josephine encouraged him, while Cullen moped after sitting back down. 

 

The meeting was adjourned after he was given some more potential recruits to check in on. Leliana found that a Warden might possibly be somewhere in the Hinterlands, and she asked him to check for a ‘Warden Blackwall’ while they were there. Another possible recruit lay with a mercenary band that had asked for him by name to come see them in the Storm Coast. A man named Krem had come to their gates asking to speak to someone in charge, and Rylen had taken the message for them. The company was called ‘Bull’s Chargers’; the leader apparently being a Qunari. Even though the meeting with the Mages was priority, Erevard had to admit to himself, he was excited to see what a Qunari looked like in person and asked if they could _maybe_ go visit this ‘Storm Coast’ place first. Varric had laughed when he met up with him for dinner at the inn that evening, saying that it may be good for him to find someone as big as him. The dwarf also warned him they didn’t call it ‘Storm Coast’ for nothing, it was going to be rainy and miserable there. Erevard didn’t really mind, he could just stay as a caster of sorts to avoid his armour rusting. 

 

Still, things were looking up just a bit for him. He had some things to look forward to, and hopefully the problem with the Envy Demon was a ways off. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Alexius and Erevard still has a really bad time with everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Movin' along but I have some plans cause Bull is probably going to shit himself at Erevard.

There were already several problems and they hadn’t even gotten to the meeting yet.

First problem: there was a rift just outside the gates of Redcliffe, and while that wasn’t really a shocking development on its own, the rift warped time around it. Erevard’s Echo warned him that some of the strange, glowing areas around the rift very clearly told him not to step in it, but some also sped up time. They found that out when, despite being very clearly yelled at not to step in anything weird, he did it anyway and felt the effects - he moved much faster and also thought faster - did everything faster, really. It was disorienting and he ended up tumbling out of it and getting yelled at, but sometimes you need to find things out the hard way.

Second problem: Once they actually entered Redcliffe, a scout came by to tell them no one was expecting them. Fiona herself had asked them to attend this meeting back in Val Royeaux, how was no one expecting them? Was she keeping it under wraps, then? Apparently not, because immediately after a mage came over and told them they were to meet with Magister Alexius instead. Erevard had a brief enough rundown of Tevinter to know that was probably a bad thing and not someone he wanted to meet.

Third problem: They did some snooping at the behest of Sera, which included picking the lock of a house that gave Solas a ‘strange feeling’ when they walked by and found something that made him sick to his stomach.

There had been a strange, marked skull out in the middle of the Hinterlands, overlooking a cliff where most of the skirmishing was going on between the two rebel factions. Erevard had dismissed it as just some ‘weird Thedas thing’ and didn’t really give much thought to it after they left. Today, they found out where exactly they came from and what the skulls actually were.

The shelves of the little home were lined with them, and the strange humming sound that accompanied the first one was ringing throughout the entire room. An open book lay on a small desk nearby, Solas had gone to it immediately while the rest of the group had stared at the skulls in horror.

The magister he was set to meet with in a few minutes had issued orders for these skulls, something for ‘the Venatori’ and finding shards with them. It got worse as Solas read on, the book stated the ritual they were using ‘Tranquil’ for. Erevard had to ask what a Tranquil was, and an awkward silence fell over the room. Solas explained, while shooting an angry glance at Cassandra who was looking back at the skulls again, that Tranquil were Mages who were deemed one of several things by the Chantry - and were ‘branded’. The brand cut them off from the Fade, and essentially, their magic, and also cut off most emotions. They were still alive, but one could argue to what degree and what quality of life remained to them. Tranquil were susceptible to being mistreated as well, they couldn’t fight, nor could they really disobey demands made of them. Essentially, they were little more than living machines, from what it sounded like.

Solas included that usually they were not visible to demons as well, and the fact that the book explained they were using demons to possess them, then promptly slaughter them to remove their skull proved something was incredibly wrong here. More so than just the absolute horror that was going on, because of course it was worse - how were they forcing demons onto them?

Twelve above, he hated Thedas.

And with that lovely bit of new knowledge added to his already throbbing brain, they were off to the meeting inside a tavern.

Fiona greeted them as soon as they entered, then asked what brought them to Redcliffe. Erevard did not bite back the noise of disbelief at the utter stupidity of that question. “...You invited us here back in Val Royeaux?”

Fiona frowned and shook her head, “You must be mistaken, I have not been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

Erevard bit his lip and turned to his companions for guidance, but everyone seemed about as baffled as he did. So she didn’t remember? Or it wasn’t her. “And if it wasn’t you, who invited me here?”

She said she felt strange now that he mentioned it, which set off alarms in the back of his head immediately, and of course the situation got worse. Fiona stated that the ‘situation’ had changed regardless of who invited them - the mages had pledged themselves to Tevinter, and she no longer had the authority to negotiate with them. Cassandra and Varric both had comments to that; Cassandra asked if they were worried most of Thedas was going to turn on them now, and Varric commented that doing that was about the stupidest thing they could have done. Erevard silently agreed - mostly because he wanted to get the hell out of here already and he needed the mages. But of course, nothing was ever simple!

“Then tell me who is.”

His question was answered by the sound of a door opening, he whirled and two men approached. The one in front was much older and spoke first, “Welcome, my friends!” Erevard’s skin crawled at the sound of this one’s voice - any semblance of trust this man could have earned evaporated. “I apologize for not greeting you earlier.” He smiled, his words seemingly harmless and polite, but that feeling wasn’t going away. He half hoped the Echo would hit him with a vision of this man doing something bad so they could just leave already - maybe the demon with the Templars was the better option…

“Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.” Fiona said, because of course this was the bastard who issued those orders earlier. Now Erevard was on guard and carefully watching the man. Alexius and the younger man flanking him stood between Fiona and him, “The Southern mages are under my command, and you are… the off-worlder? Yes? You survived the Fade. Interesting.” The last word came out just a little bit sinister, tone completely off from how he was speaking before. He expected some degree of unwelcomeness as per usual, but something was off. The Magister looked at him like he was studying him for a split second, then went back into the charming display he had started with.

There were a million questions he could ask this man, but he had a feeling they wouldn’t be answered very well. “I’m quite new to Thedas’ geography, although you are quite far from home, Alexius.”

The man smiled, “As are you, no?” He stepped away and waved them over to a little table in the corner. Erevard did not miss Fiona’s expression of sorrow as they stepped away, her head bowed low, looking away.

They sat down and Alexius asked the younger man to fetch a scribe, introducing him as his son, Felix. Now that Erevard knew they were related, he could see the resemblance in their faces, and not just their garb. The way Alexius kept ending his sentences with ‘friends’ made his stomach churn, but now they were getting into negotiations properly. Erevard had to channel his inner Alphinaud.

“I am not surprised you are here. Containing the Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt.” He shifted, laying one leg over the other and turning his torso slightly to the direction where Felix had just left. Interesting. “There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed.”

Ambitious he says. Pah. He doesn’t know the half of what Erevard gets up to, and he didn’t need to know it either. “So, will you lend your mages to the cause?”

Alexius leaned forward eyes darting back to where Felix had gone off to, not quite focusing on Erevard, “There will have to be-” He stopped completely, Erevard looked to his side too. Felix was making his way over, wobbling unsteadily on his legs.

Was he going to fall over? Erevard jumped up from his chair, ready to catch the smaller man if he fell, and fall he did. Erevard caught him, holding him up against his body, trying to steady him, and he felt something slip into his hand. Felix pushed his way off him, and apologized, “Please forgive my clumsiness, my lord.”

Something was going on here. Alexius had closed the distance, his hand hovering over Felix’s back, “Are you alright?” His voice was barely a whisper, this was sincere. A concerned father. “Come, we’ll get your powders.”

“Please, excuse me friends!” And now he was back to whatever it was he was doing, “we will have to continue this another time, I will send word to the Inquisitor at a later date.” Fiona was called over to ‘the castle’ and thus, the meeting was over. Once they had left, Erevard looked down to the parchment Felix had slipped him, he couldn’t make out what it said as the Echo didn’t translate text, but Cassandra read it for him.

“Come to the Chantry. You are in danger. Ugh.”

“Very mysterious.” Varric added.

Erevard shook his head and looked around the room, the tavern had started filling up again now that Alexius had left. “Well, let’s go see what it is.”

“Bet it’s a trap.” Sera leapt off the table she had been sitting on.

“I would be surprised if it wasn’t.”

 

* * *

 

  
They found a man fighting off demons by a rift inside the damn Chantry. So while it wasn’t a trap, it was still something utterly ridiculous that Erevard had to laugh. This rift also shared the same time warp pools littered about that the first one had, though this time he didn’t step into one and risked losing his breakfast.

Once the rift was closed, the mage sauntered over and asked how the Mark must work. Erevard only shrugged in response, honestly he had no clue and it just did things.

The man gave a small chuckle, “You don’t even know do you? You just wiggle your fingers and… Boom! Rift closes.”

Surprisingly accurate. “Pretty much. And who are you, exactly?” Erevard asked, studying him. Young, tan skin, black hair and a ridiculous mustache.

“Ah! Getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of house Pavus,” Dorian gave a little bow of his head, “most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

“Another Tevinter, be careful with this one.” Cassandra frowned, eyes darting from Dorian to Erevard in warning. It was true his first meeting with one wasn’t exactly great, but that didn’t mean they needed to lump all of them in with Alexius...

“Suspicious friends you have here! Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable, as I’m sure you know.”

“I was expecting Felix to be here.”

Dorian leaned to the side, looking to the door behind Erevard, “I’m sure he’s on his way. He was to give you the note then meet us here after ditching his father.” He tapped his boot against the stone floor, clearly Felix was late.

“And why exactly are you two meeting us in the Chantry like this, if he was your mentor?”

“Keyword being was. We developed a rather dangerous type of magic, you see. He’s using it now.”

Erevard’s eyes narrowed, “Dangerous how.”

“You must have noticed the way the rift seemed to distort time around itself, yes? Alexius is distorting time itself, and left unchecked it could very well unravel the world.” Dorian raised a brow when Erevard sighed very, very loudly.

Because nothing was ever simple. Ever.

 

* * *

 

  
Felix arrived shortly after and the two men explained that Alexius had joined a supremacist cult called the Venatori, was using time magic to get to the mages before the Inquisition did, and their goal was to get to Erevard. Why exactly? Anyone’s guess - he walked out of the Fade, was from another world and could close rifts. There were way too many reasons but they didn’t have the reason.

Dorian stated he would like to be around when they confronted Alexius - because now they absolutely had to - and vanished, saying he’d be in touch.

The last thing they had to do was find Warden Blackwall before they went back to Haven to deliver the absolutely fantastic news that time magic was apparently a thing on Thedas. Solas remarked that was very much new magic, because again - of course it was. Everything is just going to shit now that Erevard was visiting.

At least Blackwall was easy to find.

They found him giving some sort of rallying speech to a dozen… farmers? Out by a lake behind one of their camps. Erevard still didn’t really have a good grasp on what a Warden was. He was given a quick rundown by his party on the way. The gist of what he understood was Thedas had suffered something called ‘Blights’, which he compared to Calamities and was given a few very firm headshakes that no they are not quite on that level, once he explained Bahamut to them, but could be if left alone. Darkspawn were disgusting creatures that liked to eat people and generally destroyed all life they touched - leaving the lands barren and dead, and they crawled out of the Deep Roads every once in a while and caused devastation: hence, a Blight. Varric also added never, ever to swallow any fluids from one of the damn monsters or get it in you in any way. Hawke’s brother had gone with them to their expedition to the Deep Roads and had gotten himself ‘Blighted’. There was no cure, and it was a slow, painful death. The only ‘cure’ was to become a Grey Warden, and Varric couldn’t really explain it. Grey Warden secrets and all that.

So here they were, watching the Warden give orders to a bunch of farmers. They were hardly dressed for battle, but each wielded a weapon of some kind.

“Warden Blackwall!” Cassandra shouted, and the man turned to them. He was a burly one, with a long black beard that swallowed up most of his face, definitely an older man as well. A griffin of sorts adorned his chest piece.

“Who are you, you’re not-” He raised his shield just in time for an arrow to land itself in it - and then came a distant yell. Suddenly a rush of attackers, most likely bandits by their armor, rushed in. Blackwall yelled orders to stand and fight to his little ‘conscripts’, and Erevard was not about to have this.

A quick change to Black Mage and a Freeze spell locked all the morons that were blindly charging them neatly in place, and the potential battlefield stood still, aside from the frightened gasps. The only problem was the two bowmen at the back, who were now aiming their next shot at Erevard. He shot them a glare before raising his own ward, the shimmer of light wrapping over his form, waiting for the inevitable shot. The one on the left, the younger of the two, it seemed, had his eyes darting between Erevard and his fellows - panic seemed to win over and he let the arrow fly.

Of course, it bounced off with no real power behind it and Erevard scoffed. “Try it again, I dare you.” The staff lit up as he pushed just a tiny flicker of aether into it, just enough to get a little spark going but no real spell, and the two men dropped their bows and raised their arms over their heads in surrender.

“What… Who are you?” The Warden asked, catching himself on the ‘what’ part.

“That’s the Herald of Andraste, ser…!” One of the farmers with an axe in hand stuttered out, and Erevard noticed a couple of the bandits trying to wiggle their legs out of the ice. It wasn’t going to work anytime soon, but it was amusing at least.

“Right. That’s me. And you are Warden Blackwall, I take it? We were sent to find you.” Erevard was watching Sera as she had made her way to one of the frozen men and kicked him in the ass, laughing as he lurched forward and yelled.

The Warden nodded but asked how they knew his name. Cassandra interrupted, saying they were the Inquisition and sent to find any traces of the Wardens after their timely disappearance. Blackwall stated their order was not political and not at all responsible for the death of the Divine - despite never being directly accused… He said he wandered the area alone, recruiting, and hadn’t seen any other Wardens in months.

Not really the answer they were hoping for.

Erevard glanced over to the frozen bandits once more, the two with the bows had sped off into the woods while they were chatting away and probably wouldn’t come back, but what to do with these? Sera suggested just putting a few arrows in their heads, after Blackwall explained he was conscripting the farmers to protect themselves from the frozen idiots, and while Erevard didn’t really want to flat out kill them now that they were helpless, if he let them go they could probably just go back to raiding.

Blackwall made a point that thieves are not born, but made.

Solas suggested they be put to work in Redcliffe village to restore it as best they could to atone, and they would at least be fed. They took the offer since the other alternative was a quick death.

Then it was back to Haven, with Blackwall who asked to join, and hopefully he could make a quick detour to the Storm Coast before dealing with the time-magic bullshit.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iron Bull joins the party!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got really long...

He'd been warned about how 'the Storm Coast' received its name, but even he didn't believe it would be  _ this  _ miserable. Since their arrival, the rain and bitter cold wind had only worsened as they got closer to the camp - closer to the sea. They were also told to keep an eye out for Darkspawn. Although any weren’t seen lately, there were a number of dwarven ruins that littered the coast that could very well lead into the Deep Roads, or out. 

 

They were to meet the Chargers nearby and  _ test  _ them, to see if they were worth the price to hire. Josephine stated they were rather well-known for a merc band as well, though Erevard had to admit he didn't ever work with hired mercenaries. This would be a first for him. 

 

It was also a first traveling with Blackwall. The man was utterly silent save from the occasional bout of mischief with Sera - although he wasn’t looking forward to being the subject of pranks by the elf woman and a possible accomplice, he was glad the two were getting along well enough. They were bonding over pestering Solas, something about… Settling a question for Sera and him, about ‘ _ friends’  _ in the Fade and if any were ‘more than just friends’. Erevard promptly blocked it out when he, admittedly, slowly, figured out what kind of friends they were talking about. 

 

Their little band was growing larger, though. Right now they counted six: Erevard, Cassandra, Solas, Blackwall, Varric and Sera. Though they were not the Scions, he found himself becoming more comfortable around them. Varric had mentioned they had recently passed the one month mark for him being on Thedas - and while initially he had been upset at that, at least he could say to himself he was  _ adjusting.  _

 

Fray wasn't, of course. He had spoken with him in Haven, but the two wouldn't converse out on the road beyond some words whispered at the back of his mind. It was an odd feeling. Like they were thoughts, but he wasn't  _ thinking  _ them. No point in trying to figure it out though. Even Fray said he felt  _ different _ here, and when pressed about how he felt, he couldn't give a solid answer, beyond saying he felt more… real. Whatever that meant. Not like he could ask people, anyway. 

 

Needless to say, he still wanted off Thedas, but it was getting easier in most aspects. His Mark wasn't hurting anymore too - Solas theorized that his control over it was becoming stronger, and required less and less warding now.

 

Demons still freaked him out. They were actually beginning to be worse than Voidsent - and he explained the difference on the road, much to the group’s horror at the prospect of an entire star being consumed by Dark magic. Solas pressed him for details, but he couldn’t really  _ give  _ any. Just that it looked awful and was riddled with equally awful Voidsent. They also liked to hop over to their world, which he also couldn't explain too well. 

 

“ _ Looked?”  _ Sera asked, disbelief evident on her face. 

 

Erevard simply nodded, “Yes. I went there during our expedition into the Crystal Tower. Had to go rescue the twin clones when they got pulled in by the portal the Cloud of Darkness created and Nero jumped in after them, the absolute idiot.” He paused at all the looks the group was giving him, “Oh let me guess, ‘Erevard is talking nonsense again, weirdy isn’t making sense, everything he says is  _ weird’.”  _ That didn’t help the looks, but at least Varric broke the silence with a loud cough and a question. 

 

“Cloud? Soooo… _ Literal  _ cloud?"

 

Erevard sighed loudly, followed by his best Cassandra ‘ugh’ imitation, and launched into explaining  _ no it wasn’t a literal cloud. Similar but not really, like a giant green evil woman that was kind of like a cloud. No, Sera, stop giggling, she wasn’t pretty. Yes, Nero is an absolute moron. No the clones didn’t really survive, even though he wished he could have saved them. G’raha stayed within the tower. G’raha was another person part of the expedition. Yes, he was a miqo’te, yes he had a tail and ears. Yes. Really. Nero ran off until their business with Omega because he’s stupid. No, I’m not going to explain what Omega is yet I already have a headache.  _

 

“That’s a shame, I  _ was  _ going to ask more about that thing you pulled on that Demon back in the Hinterlands.” Varric said, a bit coy and teasing. 

 

“It’s a  _ gun.  _ I made a deal with Leliana that if she can find someone I am comfortable with handing it over to I’ll let them tinker with it. Fury, if they break it…” He thought of a multitude of things he could do to someone who broke the thing, Varric’s laugh snapped him out of it. 

 

“Easy, Spiky. So, a gun? It looks a bit automated like Bianca, you know. Trigger and all that? How do you load it, and with what?” They were nearing the coast and slowly making their way up a rather large hill, thankfully there was a path but-

 

The sounds of battle and shouts hitting his ears removed all thoughts of answering that question. They had just passed the little camp a bit ago and were supposed to be meeting the Chargers near here. Something was wrong.

 

* * *

  
  
  


Bull did not like surprises. Specifically, in the form of  _ fucking Vint ambushes.  _ They’d been peacefully sitting along the Coast, waiting for the Inquisition’s representatives to come along and hire them - because of course they were going to be hired, he knew it without a doubt - and then these assholes came tumbling over the other hill. They weren’t much of a challenge to him, but it wasn’t a good time for the rest of the company. Either the Inquisition was doing a poor job of scouting the area, or they had neglected to tell them. Both reasons were pretty unacceptable, honestly. It wasn’t like these idiots popped out of thin air. 

 

Sadly, that wasn’t the only surprise that day.

 

He’d heard that the supposed ‘Herald of Andraste’ was some freaky giant elf, but the sources weren’t all that credible. It was mostly coming through word of mouth of people who had spoken to people who may or may not have actually seen him. So he was going off of rumors. Some of them were saying he wasn’t from  _ this world _ , but what horseshit was that? Maybe he was just some freak of nature and people were pulling that from nowhere to explain it. Or maybe he wasn’t at all and it was just people overexaggerating the whole ‘Herald’ crap about him. 

 

Except it wasn’t.

 

Six people came from the direction of the little Inquisition camp - who had to be the representatives, as they came bolting into the fight to help them immediately - and one in particular stood out. It was an add group already, really. A dwarf, two elves (one was a mage, he noted as the bald male's staff lit up) and two humans, and one  _ whatever the fuck that was.  _

 

Giant elf was about right, no time to check him out though - Vints were still fighting them, and one was running right at him. Bull had to hand it to the about-to-be-dead guy, he had balls, charging a Qunari by himself. With nothing but a sword, no less. Bull's grip on his axe tightened, ready to swing it over his head to take out the lil guy in one clean hit, till an arrow lodged itself right in the slight opening on his neck, his massive helm not quite covering it as he was running. Bull spared a quick glance to see where it came from - the elf woman was loading her next arrow atop the hill they all came from - an archer, and a damn good one then. He grinned, about time they showed up. 

 

There was a nasty battle mage that had been giving them some trouble. Although the barriers he was casting weren’t on  _ every  _ grunt, the ones that had them were close to the mage, so they weren’t breaking that damn line when their weapons were busy bouncing off magic. Hopefully now with reinforcements, they could take care of him - especially with a good archer. The bastard had placed several Frost runes around him, if anyone stepped in them, well, it wasn’t something he wanted to really see. 

 

"Chargers! Inquisition's here! Look lively!"

 

He wasn't expecting any responses, as they were still  _ swamped _ with enemies, but he felt a twinge of pride as a few of  _ his _ men actually managed a shout back. Krem was nearby, grappling with another one of the grunts; Bull fell into a charge, bringing his axe into the man’s back. The axe went right through the armor, that wasn’t going to protect him against the strength of a Qunari. 

 

“Chief, the mage-” Krem never finished his sentence, his eyes going wide at something behind Bull. Bull whirled to see, and he too couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

 

* * *

  
  


Erevard’s initial view of the battle told him the Chargers were not necessarily losing, but they weren’t exactly  _ winning  _ either. Ordinarily he’d jump straight into the fight as well, but the mage standing alone along the coast, in a circle of, what he’d come to know as Frost runes along the ground, was definitely a problem. He knew Solas could cast barriers over people and how they’d saved him from some nasty scratches (and Fury knows what else when it came to the others - he’d seen arrows and spells even bounce off or at least, have less of an impact) and that mage was definitely putting up barriers. Had to get rid of him and fast. There were a few goons standing nearby, archers mostly, also encircled by some runes along the ground - this one had been busy. 

 

Sure, he could just swap to Machinist and shoot the bastards, but he could also entirely avoid the damn runes with a few well-placed jumps as well. Or maybe hit them with a few spells of his own. The possibilities were endless, of course, but he opted for Dragoon again.  

 

He called for the Soul and leapt into the air when it answered, veering for the mage first - he’d already seen Solas’ barrier manifest over himself, he could take an arrow or two if need be from the remaining archers. Aether surged beneath him as he reached the peak of his jump, he lowered his body and pushed against the aether at his feet - spear pointed for the mage who had now whirled to see him, preparing a spell - using a book as a focus, like many of the rebels they had encountered. A stray arrow flew by his shoulder, missing him entirely, one of the archers was fast, he had to give them that.

 

He couldn’t really guess as to what it was, having no feeling for Thedas magic - ordinarily he could have a guess at what was coming with aether-focused spells, and his Echo, but this time - nothing. 

 

And just as his spear met with his target - they vanished. He landed exactly where the mage had been standing, his spear sinking into the ground, using it as a balance to launch himself back up into the air, searching for the target. Solas had told him some mages could ‘Fade step’ and teleport, this one was one of those mages. 

 

There - the mage had teleported a few yalms away and was weaving some new spell - ice formed around their body, no doubt to shield himself against the spear. 

 

Erevard grinned underneath the Dragoon helm, ice was easy enough to pierce, but if he wanted to play that game… 

 

He let himself go into freefall, landing a few feet from where he had just been, - the archers had been firing off, but missing as he was moving much too quickly and jumping too high for their arrows -  _ never seen a Dragoon before, have they?  _ He thought to himself, amused. Now they had a clear shot that he was grounded. 

 

But he had broken the concentration of the mage… Arrows hit their marks in the archers along the coast, now unprotected by the frantic mage. No time to look who did it, he called the soul of the Summoner and matched the mage’s ice with the Ifrit-egi, his book flaring with flame-aspected aether for the summon. The egi manifested and flew forward, flamed claws raking it’s way across the ice encasing the mage, shattering it immediately, and the man screamed in terror. Erevard commanded the egi to continue it’s assault, a wave of his hand all that was needed - and he readied his own arsenal of spells. 

 

Holding the book over his shoulder, one clawed hand reached out and began the incantation for his Ruin spell, he drew the circle with his finger, the red symbol appearing out of thin air, brought the book forward to aim the spell and  _ fired  _ it. Bright tendrils of flame danced from the book used as a catalyst, wrapping themselves over the mage, and bursting into a destructive blow. 

 

Not much was left beyond a charred body, the egi had already done a significant amount of damage, and it seemed that Thedas mages weren’t quite equipped to deal with aether wreaking havoc on them. 

 

Now he finally turned to the remainder of the battle and saw the Chargers and his group were basically doing clean up; and the massive man that had to be the Qunari was making his way over. His one eye that wasn’t covered by his eye-patch, blown wide, head tilted slightly to look at the smoking body behind Erevard. He had longer ears that were pointed, ashy grey skin and rather large, dark horns jutting from the top of his head, to the sides, probably what ‘Bull’s Chargers’ were about. The horns resembled a Bull’s. Little to no armor on his chest, but tons of scars. Definitely a warrior type.

 

_ “Well, this is going to be interesting.”  _ Fray whispered. Erevard had to agree, finally meeting a Qunari - though maybe not on the best terms… As the Qunari came closer he noticed they were almost matching in height, too. Though it seemed Erevard was an inch or two taller. A shame, the way he looked, minus the horns, reminded him of Roegadyn. Some were much taller than he, specifically Hellsguard, though he did match or often was taller than Sea Wolves.

 

He turned around, back now facing Erevard and shouted, “Chargers! Stand down. Krem!” A man with brown hair answered, looking up and saluting - Krem, then - “How’d we do?” 

 

“Six wounded, no dead, chief!” 

 

Six wounded? 

 

**_Swish_ **

 

The Qunari whirled around at the sound, frowning. 

 

“I’m a healer, are they comfortable with it?” Erevard asked, tightening his grip on his now glowing staff. Bull eyed it suspiciously, brow raised and corner of his mouth tugged upwards, before making a sound close to irritation. 

 

“Yeah… Go for it, we’ve got our own mage so the boys shouldn’t say shit about it.” 

 

In the distance a blonde elf woman perked up and shouted, “I’m not a mage!” 

 

Bull brought a hand to his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose, waving his other hand in dismissal. “Not now, Dalish.” The woman who’d shouted, Dalish presumably, huffed out a sigh. 

 

Erevard merely shrugged, making his way over to the man named Krem and asking who was wounded - two of the six had some nasty cuts, but nothing that was life-threatening. One man had an arrow in his shoulder, which was being pulled out by another human, and the remainder looked bruised and a bit bloodied. Probably just got hit a few times by a shield or something, he thought. Nothing a quick Medica won’t fix, maybe a bit more patching up on the arrow one, though.

 

All eyes fell on him, including his own party’s. He raised his staff high and closed his eyes, bright aether gathering to the tip of the staff and swirling around him - strands of greens and blues weaving their way up his form, into the staff, and then - he let loose the healing aether, a bright burst of light over the group, accompanied by gasps as wounds disappeared under the shower of light. 

 

He smiled, content with the spell, and made his way over to the man with the arrow - it had been pulled out, and he would more than likely have a nasty scar, but the bleeding was stopped and the wound was closing up from the previous spell, though not entirely. He asked if he could finish the job, and the man nodded, his expression full of disbelief - watching as Erevard kneeled down, his hand hovering over the wound, and as blue aether enveloped his shoulder. 

 

The wound grew smaller and smaller, until all that remained was a nasty scar and some bruised skin. It would heal naturally on it’s own from there on, Erevard told him. The man thanked him profusely with a roll of his shoulder and a wide smile. 

 

Erevard stood up and nearly bumped into someone, he turned and saw the Qunari man, who had taken a step back and had his arms raised in mock surrender, “Woah, sorry. Just, wondering what exactly you’re… Doing.” 

 

He shrugged, not really wanting to launch into an explanation and called for Varric, “Varric! You’re a writer, yeah?” The dwarf nodded, a bit surprised at being called, “You should write out pamphlets or something so I can hand them out every time I do something  _ weird.”  _

 

The dwarf huffed a laugh, stopping when Cassandra’s boot hit his own. 

 

“So I take it the rumors that you’re not from around here are true. I’ll hold off on those questions for a bit, first, let’s talk business.” The Qunari crossed his arms over his chest, pointing with a tilt of his chin to Erevard.

 

“Aye, you must be Iron Bull.” It was more statement than question, now that he was actually speaking with the Qunari. 

 

“Yeah, the horns usually give it away.” Bull motioned for Erevard to follow him a ways off from the rest of the group, he glanced at Cassandra who gave him a nod, so he followed towards a rocky outcrop where the two giant men sat across from each other. Krem had followed, and Bull launched back into conversation.

 

“I assume you remember Krem, my lieutenant?” He asked. 

 

“Good to meet you,” Krem gave a slight bow of his head, turning back to the band leader, “Throat cutters are done, chief.” 

 

“Already eh? Have ‘em check again, don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offence, Krem.” The Qunari chuckled. 

 

“None taken!” Krem shrugged, turning away to go back to the group, “Least a bastard knows who his mother was, puts you one up on you Qunari right?” 

 

And off he went, and Bull  _ smiled.  _ Interesting company, then. Definitely relaxed. Maybe he’ll like them. 

 

“So! You’ve seen us fight, we’re expensive, but we’re worth it. And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.” 

 

He genuinely had no idea what the Inquisition could afford. Not something he was really privy to, would ask about, or even really cared about. 

 

“You’re not just getting the boys, you’re also getting  _ me.  _ You need a frontline bodyguard? I’m your man. Whatever it is? Demons? Dragons? The bigger the better, and there’s one other thing,” He stood up from his rock, once again motioning for Erevard to follow a way’s off. His voice lowered, not a whisper, but definitely not wanting to be heard. “And there’s one other thing: mist be useful, might piss you off. Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?” 

 

“No. I’ve heard very little of your people, honestly. I’m still pretty new to Thedas.” What was the worst it could be, anyway?

 

Bull made a noise of mild disgust, but composed himself quickly enough, “It’s a Qunari order - they handle information, loyalty, security, order, all of it. Spies, basically. Or, well, we’re spies. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach - and you - magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath spies over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

 

Erevard felt as though he’d been hit in the face. That was quite a lot to digest, and he definitely wasn’t expecting  _ this  _ for his first meeting with Bull.  _ Alright, so ‘not that bad’ was thrown out the window, too.  _ He thought, coupled with thoughts of having never really dealt with  _ actual  _ spies. Thedas, sadly, was continuously throwing  _ firsts  _ at him in rapid succession and he was getting oh-so tired of it. 

 

The last, closest thing he had ever dealt with to a spy was Asahi’s little tricks, and the Echo had caught on to it quickly enough. Would it be the same if this, Iron Bull, betrayed him? 

 

“You could’ve hidden what you are. Why tell me? Doesn’t sound like something a normal spy would do.” Thancred did do some of their spywork, as did Riol, and he had never heard of them doing this...

 

The Qunari laughed, “From something called the Inquisition? Nah. I woulda been tipped off sooner or later, better you hear it right up front from me.” 

 

Fair enough. “I suppose I’m the one who decides, as Cassandra has left me…” 

 

“The Seeker? Is she the Inquisitor or something, then? I heard you got that Herald of Andraste title going on.” 

 

Erevard groaned, internally cringing at that damned title he had hanging over his head. “No and no, please. That is not a title I want to wear, nor should I wear. I landed here and didn’t even know what an  _ Andraste  _ was. Anyway…” If Cassandra didn’t want him making the decision she would have followed, so - it  _ was _ up to him, and he could use another frontliner in their little party. The man was just as big as he was and definitely a melee type, and judging from all the scars - not afraid to take a hit. It would put his mind at ease to have another person who can put themselves ahead of the others if need be. Erevard offered him his hand, “Welcome to the Inquisition, Iron Bull.” 

 

They shook on it firmly, and Bull shouted for Krem to tell the men the Bull’s Chargers were packing up - they were hired. Krem lamented they had just opened the casks with axes, Bull answered with a quip about using blood magic to seal them since he was from Tevinter. 

 

Erevard laughed. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Some stuff with the Blades and then off we go to Redcliffe! Weeeee! Also Bull probably shitting himself later when he finds out all the stuff Erevard can do.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erevard deals with the Blades of Hessarian, Bull watches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmmm maybe a certain friend had a bit of a hand in this... Hmmmmm

Erevard was a strange man.

 

Not only because he was painfully obviously not from _Thedas,_ but also because he was an entirely different person when fighting. Outside of combat he was a bit sarcastic at times, but generally stoic and quiet - always looking ahead to the next thing on their giant to do list. Unless they were relaxing after a hard day’s work. He’d chat around the campfire about mundane things or tell stories of his own world, go to bed, and wake up back in that serious mindset of ‘we have a job to do and we’re going to do it.’ In short, he was _committed._

 

Combat was when he became slightly intimidating.

 

For one, none of his combat styles fit anything Bull had ever seen before. Sure, the weapons were similar enough - he’d seen axes and swords and spears his entire life, of course - but _how_ he used them were totally alien, and frightening. He was silently rather glad he was on his team right now and most of that scary magic was aimed at demons and the occasional Vint asshole.

 

He’d explained (again), much to his own annoyance, his magic does not come from the Fade like a Thedas mage’s would. He used _aether_ ; a magical substance that made up _everything_ on his world - to which Dalish raised a good question, how does he not run out? 

 

“I’m sure I will if I overdo it, but just like anything, it’ll come back. I’m something of an exception, anyway, and I prefer not to use a ton of magic unless I need to - better to keep it in reserve for intensive healing if I need it.” He’d rambled some more about how he could channel aether into his shield and his sword for particular techniques as well.

 

Bull filed that particular admittance away for later - if he thought _that_ , it was for a good reason. But he did seem like the overly protective type, too. During fights Bull had noticed the man taking hits for other people - usually with his shield, he was damn proficient at it, but he wouldn’t hesitate to take a fireball or something for one of the less defensive people on the team. Bull was grateful for it when he took a swipe for Krem, but it was mildly concerning that the man had absolutely zero concerns towards self-preservation. 

 

Sure, he _could_ take the hits, but why was he doing it so fervently? 

 

Secondly, he was _fast._ Erevard darted between enemies in the battlefield at an incredible speed, despite being in heavy armour half the time too. The spear style he used earlier defied all reason - jumping _that_ high - and he’d explained he was manipulating the flow of aether into his legs and to jump against. It was meant to offer comfort and an explanation, but it only made him _more_ uneasy. Battle mage types were difficult to deal with, and usually incredibly powerful - the fact that Erevard was mixing such a physical style with magic was… _Terrifying._  

 _How the fuck_ would they stop him if the Qun decided to get rid of him? The man could just… Leap away, into the sky, and then what? 

 

Capture him in a room with a low ceiling, then? Nope. When he had his sword and shield or his axe he tore through enemies like _paper._ And he still used that ‘aether’ magic when fighting, too. 

 

So maybe they ambush him when he’s not expecting it? 

 

Well that idea went out the window after the Blades of Hassarian business they were sent to deal with today.

 

The Inquisition secured some blueprints for some ridiculous little medallion that the Blades would accept as a peace offer - and Erevard was supposed to challenge the leader of the band, and take his place if he won.

 

‘If’, they said. _Funny. Hilarious! Absolutely priceless._

 

He’d been in his stoic, ‘get the job done’ mode all morning as they made their way to the encampment - but he walked with a sort of… angry air to him. Bull had learned that the whole reason they were dealing with the Blades was due to them outright slaughtering Inquisition soldiers, who had come to talk peace with the Blades. Pretty shitty of them, honestly, to kill in a peace talk - but that was nothing new. People did terrible shit all the time.

 

So here they stood in some dingy camp made of wooden barricades and some shacks, with some massive hairy brute of a man waiting for Erevard to challenge him.

 

Erevard made a bit of a show addressing the leader, walking up to him without a care, not even glancing at the two massive mabari to the side of the ‘little throne’ the man was standing at. A rock painted with their symbol and some skulls thrown about for… Some reason. Maybe he was compensating? Erevard shot it a look of utter disgust before the brute spoke.

 

“So, you’ve come to challenge the Blades of Hessarian?” 

 

Erevard, hilariously, took a few more steps and _stared down_ the man. Sure, he was large by human standards - but Erevard towered over him and Bull had to snicker at it. Sera next to him shared the same sentiment, albeit a bit less of a snicker and more of a giggle-snort. The leader’s throat bobbed with what had to be a nervous gulp as his head went up to meet Erevard’s eyes. 

 

“Aye, you killed Inquisition soldiers who came to you under the banner of peace,” A glance was spared to the leader’s absurd hand-axe, followed by a wicked smile flashing teeth, “I will make this _slow.”_

 

Something about the way he spoke, with open disdain, sent a chill down Bull’s spine, and even Sera stiffened next to him. He did not look at the others for their reactions - something he’d mentally smack himself for later - but watched Erevard like a hawk for what would come out of _that_ declaration. 

 

“You want your justice? Come and claim it!” 

 

The Blade leader roared, and the dogs sprung into action, barking as they rushed forward, drool spilling from their open jaws as their teeth snapped wildly in Erevard’s direction. 

 

The Elezen had told them not to interfere, he would do this himself, but even Bull flinched when he saw the mabari coming at him. 

 

Erevard was _fast._

 

Bull must have blinked - or something - he _heard_ that telltale noise when Erevard had demonstrated switching between his ‘Crystals’, but in an instant he was across the encampment in the direction the dogs had come from by a few feet. A _blast_ of wind made Bull shut his eyes and bring his hands to his face out of instinct, and the sound of steel being drawn rang through the air. 

 

He snapped his eye open just as startled gasps hit his ears, and there stood Erevard. Knees bent, head low, and a magnificent thin sword held outward - the mabari fell over, both with a thin, long gash across their entire bodies. He wore a long sleeved red cloth robe, with black and golden patterns across the hem with swirls like flames. No boots, but just sandals covered his feet with white socks, and a black and golden sash across his waist. A long, black scarf was draped over his neck and shoulders, along with two black shoulderpads of some metal adorned him.

 

“ _Shit, the fuck was that?!”_ Sera next to him shouted with absolute terror in her voice, Bull didn’t look at her to know she was probably bug-eyed right now. He probably was, too. 

 

A strangled, fearful noise came from the Blade leader as he trembled in place. Erevard sheathed his sword in the scabbard tied into the sash at his waist with a flick of his wrist - fancifully flipping the sword over to neatly slide into the upturned sheath. He turned, slowly, a small smile on his face, and changed _again,_ this time letting everyone _see._

 

In comparison to the woolen robe, he now wore even _less_ armor. A white and black half-jacket of sorts covered his upper torso, with a feathered puffed collar. Black gloves with a bit of golden armor on one, and a linked set of beads on the other, one of his boots also followed the same golden adornment while the other was bare. White pants that covered just a bit below his knee, with a long sash with a yellow and brown spotted print below and a red silken material above. 

 

Most importantly: _no weapons in sight._ Usually they’d be in his hands or on his hips or _somewhere visible._

 

Maybe it was meant to goad the leader. Maybe it was meant to give the poor asshole some semblance of hope - but there was no way anyone with a brain would think they have a chance after _that_ display. Erevard, however, was still wearing that little smirk and openly mocked the leader; putting a hand behind his back and making a ‘come here’ motion with his free hand. 

 

The crowd was deathly quiet, the only sound the wind and rain still moving as the rest of them stood still in shocked silence. The Blade leader stood absolutely still for a moment, before dropping his axe and breaking off into a sprint towards the gate. No one moved to stop him - except Erevard. 

 

An annoyed sigh left him before he swung his arms to his sides, bent his knees, and _leapt_ . This wasn’t at all like his ‘Dragoon’ jumping, he surged himself forward, and the air parted with him, blasting them in the face yet again - _show off,_ Bull thought - before stopping just in front of the leader. The idiot fell flat on his ass with a startled cry, and Erevard watched, no amusement on his face anymore, as the man scurried backwards along the ground. 

 

He took a few steps, and the terror in the man’s voice only heightened as Erevard followed and followed - until, Bull noticed there was _something_ forming along his right leg. A cloudy, formless essence formed and writhed around the leg - like _wind_ \- before he brought it to the man’s head with a loud, sickening _crunch._ The leader flew - well, his body probably, no one would survive that - into the nearest wooden building, which now had a human sized hole right through it. 

 

Bull did not want to go see what the body would look like. No one should be able to do what he just did. This was _bad_. 

 

He called himself Warrior of Light back home, and Herald of Andraste was his given title here. 

 

_What the fuck was Erevard?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: aftermath + leaving the coast


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick jump between worlds and I'm actually going to expand the Storm coast for one more chapter, then we go back to Haven!
> 
> Also we are now hitting 5.0 spoilers so beware!

The Exarch had never met an Ascian - for which he was thankful for. The servants of Dark who toiled endlessly to bring about the Rejoining, the ones who destroyed the world - were something he would have liked to avoid for as long as possible.

 

Trying to pull the Warrior to the First, however, was inevitably going to attract their attention. That he knew, and he’d already been told by the Scions who had arrived instead what was going on (despite knowing from the tales, but they needn’t  _ all _ know that yet). Elidibus was actively hunting the Warrior while wearing the corpse of the crown prince of Garlemald, and there was yet another high-ranking Ascian who recently joined the fray.

 

His name was Emet-Selch. According to Gaius van Baelsar, from Alisaie’s chat with him and the Warrior. And was currently standing inside the Ocular with him.

 

It took  _ a lot  _ of unhappy conversing to come to a truce between the two, and even though he was temporarily placing some measure of trust in the Ascian, he would be keeping an extremely close eye on anything he was going to do. 

 

He oddly expressed he wanted Erevard back in the Source - or at the very least, within one of the worlds orbiting it. When pressed  _ why  _ the Ascian would immediately backpedal and change the subject, or flat out refuse to continue speaking about it without the rest of the Scions present.

 

“I will say it once, and only once. Call the Scions and l _ et us be done with it. _ ” He snapped.

 

Despite the bad feeling this was giving the Exarch, he didn’t see much choice in denying it. There simply wasn’t another way to get him back… Even if it meant putting him at risk to Ascian meddling - to which, there always was such a risk, but he would be going into it without  _ knowing.  _ He wasn’t giving him a choice  _ again.  _

 

It was embarrassing to admit that the Exarch had basically  _ lost  _ the Warrior (for a multitude of reasons, the man was essentially  _ his _ own hero as well…) but it wasn’t his fault! 

 

Still, what’s done is done and now they had to work with what they had.

 

What they had was a  _ grumpy Ascian. _

 

The Scions had been slowly arriving to discuss what they were going to do after receiving his summons from Feo Ul, over the course of a few days. Thankfully, Emet-Selch did not linger in the Ocular constantly - and only reappeared when the last one arrived. This time, he was not clad in his black Ascian robes, but a long, intricately adorned robe of  _ Garlean  _ make. The Exarch did not forget those particular symbols.

 

Thancred was the last to come and probably had the worst mood of them all. No doubt due to his last encounter with an Ascian being just a bit too _ intimate _ for his liking… The Exarch knew all about that and didn’t blame the Hyur man whatsoever - though he hoped this wouldn’t get too ugly.

 

Having never directly dealing with them was somewhat of a blessing to him, though the Scions had been having to work against them for a long time already. They would be apprehensive, with good reason. He would have to play the part of the mediator to perfection…

 

Once Thancred just about finished glaring daggers at the Ascian in the corner of the room, the Exarch tapped the end of his staff against the crystal floor to gather everyone’s attention. “Scions, I have called you back to the tower to discuss the Warrior’s whereabouts.”

 

“And why exactly do we have an Ascian involved in this discussion?” The Exarch didn’t think their eyes could get any more narrow and angry at the Ascian, but they did. They were launching right into it with Thancred leading the charge, it seemed…

 

The Ascian in question merely rolled his eyes with a heavy sigh, “Like it or not, I am your precious Warrior’s only hope - we Ascians may traverse the rift and cross into the other shards with  _ ease. _ However,” he paused, frowning and crossing his arms over his chest, “your Exarch friend here has  _ flung him  _ far beyond the shards of this realm. I intend to find him and bring him back,” he raised a hand in dismissal as Thancred opened his mouth with some retort and immediately snapped it shut as the Ascian continued, “the  _ short  _ version of why I offer my services in locating the Warrior would best be accompanied by a brief history lesson of the true nature of the Sundering… Though I truly doubt any of you would  _ believe  _ me.” He waits for a reaction from the group with a smile pulling the corner of his lip upward, an eyebrow quirked for added smugness.

 

The Scions’ expressions have not changed, but it is Alphinaud who breaks the silence, turning to the Exarch, “Exarch, I assume you have an idea if you have entertained such a… guest... for this long?” 

 

He nodded, calling out for Feo Ul once more - who appeared with a brilliant shimmer of light and a resounding giggle at the summons. “I’m here, I’m here!”

 

The Ascians smug smile quickly turned to a look of mild disgust at the pixie. Not the best reaction, but he could understand it… 

 

“I’m sure you all remember Feo Ul?” The Scions collectively nodded - Feo was the messenger, after all, “They will accompany the Ascian through the rift and will be the one I entrust the  _ approximate coordinates  _ of our Warrior of Light,” He smiled at the loud groan escaping Emet-Selch, who had now hunched forward in a look of total exasperation, arms dangling and head low, “Once they near him - hopefully with Emet-Selch’s superior aether detection, Feo Ul will relay the closest I can sense him, perhaps it will not be needed either.” 

 

“ _ I will not escort a pixie _ -” 

 

“No, Feo Ul will be  _ escorting you.”  _ The twins and Urianger’s frowns had turned into softer expressions at the Ascian’s second defeated groan, at least. “Once you find him, Feo Ul will ask him for a pact. From there, they will be able to ferry messages across the rift from us to him, and maybe even items if we’re lucky.” The pixie giggled and fluttered over to the Ascian, who had now lifted his head and glared at the pixie floating above his face. It was rather comical, if it wasn’t  _ an actual Ascian.  _  “I am most interested in hearing your ‘history lesson’, as you called it, and elaboration on what you seek of our hero before we continue, however.” 

 

The Ascian straightened and looked to the Scions in turn, before asking to borrow the Ocular for a demonstration - and with a snap, he told them of how the world used to be, and Erevard’s place in his plans.

  
  
  


* * *

 

 

“Well, that was faster than I thought it’d be.” The admittance came once they were finally out of the camp, having gained the loyalty of the remaining Blades for the Inquisition. There was a spot higher up the coast that scout Harding had marked for them to clear out and a new camp would be set up by. The Inquisition was slowly but surely expanding - and with Venatori crawling about the Coast for some reason, there was now a need for more surveillance camps. 

 

So, off they went. Though they’d told the Chargers to start heading to Haven ahead of them as they only had enough mounts for what became known as ‘the inner circle’. Varric would have to double up as well for Bull to get a horse, or maybe Sera. 

 

The Blades would be a welcome addition to observing the area as well, hopefully the advisors would be pleased.

 

Minus his little display, of course. After everyone had finally snapped out of horrified shock (Erevard recognized the look everyone was giving him) and picked up their proverbial jaws off the floor - they had some quick talks with the Blades who swore allegiance, promoted a few of them, and went back on the road. 

 

Cassandra told him it was overkill and completely unnecessary, and displays like that would attract negative attention to him. He made an excuse that he felt like showing off for the Chargers, and that was that - a quick apology and it was (hopefully) forgotten. 

 

In reality he’d been  _ furious  _ when he found out the soldiers were murdered in a peace talk. Fray had been snapping at him most of the morning to make the bastard suffer, and after a while, Erevard agreed to it. He still wasn’t entirely sure if he was grateful it was over so quickly. Fray said he deserved to die afraid - the soldiers he’d murdered probably were - it was only fair. 

 

Fray  _ wasn’t  _ wrong, but it felt… Strange. Liberating. But he  _ knew  _ back home he wouldn’t act like this, he was better at holding down these urges. It was harder to do with Fray whispering to him constantly.

 

“ _ You fear what they will think of their precious Warrior of Light, but you are just a man, Erevard. Do not let them forget that.”  _ Fray added, because of course he knew his thoughts, they were  _ one.  _

 

In truth he was glad Fray was around, he felt less lonely this way, but it had its downsides. 

 

“You ever kill something big with just your fists, boss?”

 

Bull snapped him out of his thoughts with the question, and he had to think on it. He didn’t use Monk too often, actually. Even though he’d learned just about everything he could, he didn’t make use of them all that much. Thedas allowed him to show off, admittedly. It was a good idea to not get too rusty anyway, right? “Not that I can think of, I’m usually a Paladin or Dragoon.” 

 

Bull huffed a noise of amusement, “You should try it on some demon, bet it’d look  _ badass.”  _

 

“I think my editor would actually kill me if I wrote  _ that _ .” Varric added with a smile and a shake of his head. 

 

There were a lot of things Erevard could do that would probably elicit such a reaction from Varric’s editor. They didn’t know the half of it. “Maybe I will then, just for your editor.” 

 

Varric laughed light-heartedly in response, "Maybe one day I'll bring you to Kirkwall, you can explain to her all the crazy shit you do so she doesn't murder me for writing bullshit."

 

Travel Thedas? The thought hadn't occurred to him. Though he'd slowly realized going home may not be an option anytime soon ( _ maybe never, had also crossed his mind, but he squashed that line of thought immediately)  _ could he afford to travel when this was over? He'd ever so rarely gotten  _ time off _ from his constant duties as Warrior of Light, would Thedas be any different? Shouldn't he devote all resources into going home once he was done? 

 

Varric tapped him lightly with his elbow, making a ‘hmm’ noise, “You’re thinking something, I recognize that look.” 

 

“He’s  _ brooding,  _ dwarfy.” Sera added with a mischievous grin. 

 

“I don’t  _ brood,  _ Sera.” Erevard’s statement got a few huffed laughs out of the group, who quickly snapped their mouths shut when he shot them a quick glare. (Except Sera, who broke out into giggles.)  _ Okay, maybe a bit?  _ He could admit that, right?

 

“Alright, brooding outside, whatcha thinking about, Spiky?” Varric asked.

 

Ascians. Zenos, or Elidibus, really. Black Rose. Primals. Zodiark. The war with the Garleans. Varis’ crazed words in the peace talks that ended in absolute shambles. The restoration of Ishgard still underway. And that was without thinking what else had his world to throw at him. He settled for a simplified version once he noticed the silence was starting to hang uncomfortably.

 

“I still need to go home, Varric. We’re in the middle of a war and there’s… So many things I need to do back there.” 

 

Varric shot him a sad, knowing smile. “Work of a hero never ends, huh?” 

 

He never got to answer that, as an all too familiar piercing roar hit his ears. 

 

There was a brief moment of stunned silence in the group as they all recovered from covering their ears to keep the noise down, until Bull broke it by sprinting ahead, axe in hand and shouting: 

 

_ “DRAGON!”  _

 

Erevard’s heart  _ sank.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrapping up the Storm Coast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Haven next chapter!

The dragon flying off into the distance after killing a giant was the most blessed, beautiful thing he had ever seen since landing in Thedas. Bull’s sullen groaning put a bit of a damper on it, though. He would need to have a bit of a chat with the Qunari on his stance over dragon killing – his eagerness almost reminded him of Estinien… Albeit more joyful screaming and charging forward without a care; less barely-restrained silent fury and threats of dismemberment. 

Thankfully, relief seemed to be the general sentiment the group was currently sharing. A dragon fight in the muck and rain was not entirely a good idea, especially since that particular dragon seemed to have an affinity for lightning. Cassandra asked him if dragons back in his world could do such a thing, to which he answered yes – recalling his time in the Aery with a repressed shudder. Cassandra surprisingly offers to speak to Iron Bull about dragon killing within the group, to which he is somewhat grateful for. Though it may be best if he did it, maybe with Cassandra’s family’s reputation behind it may add some weight to his personal decision – if Cassandra said no, it meant something. 

That and he just didn’t really want to have to argue it. He felt Fray basically shrug at the thought in the back of his mind. Although the man didn’t hesitate to tell him to fight idiots who deserved it, even he agreed a dragon simply existing did not warrant bloodshed. At least they were of a similar mind in that.

They were still due to head north to check out possible campsites for the scouts, and then return to the main camp for a day of rest before heading back to Haven.  Then, finalize the plan for dealing with Alexius – and march their way over to Redcliffe castle. The main problem was they couldn’t exactly siege the damn place, so subterfuge was going to be the obvious route. Alexius had not yet asked for a second meeting either, and he had to wonder if that was because he was expecting them to fight him over it. They had received a letter earlier this morning stating that Dorian was awaiting their return in Haven, and going over with the advisors of Alexius’ plans. So far, it wasn’t looking good – the second meeting was definitely going to be a trap of sorts. 

But that was a concern for later, no point fussing over it now. Besides, it wasn’t the first time he was going to willingly walk into a trap, anyway.

For now he focused on the road ahead – or rather, the coast. He hadn’t truly noticed it before, but the Storm Coast was littered with remnants of ships of varying sizes and origin. Though it appeared the majority were Tevinter-based, no doubt from the Venatori scurrying about… Some were obviously Fereldan, noted by the dog (‘mabari’, Blackwall corrected) adornments on the ships. 

After finding a suitable camp location hidden away by some cliffs and rock formations, and marking it for camp they took a bit of a rest, grabbing some dried meat and bread to eat before going further. Although Erevard was used to such rations, he had to admit he was getting tired of eating soggy food. The rain was a constant and getting annoying. 

They eventually needed to move off of the coast, as rocky outcrops that would require serious climbing that they were not at all equipped for was blocking the way. As they moved inward, Erevard noted the occasional stone structure littered the landscape. Solas mentioned they seemed to be dwarven ruins, which made sense as they were close to Deep Road entrances. 

He also discovered what a nug was.

While climbing a particular rocky slope, a pink creature the size of a rabbit darted in front of them – making chirping noises and squeaking loudly. Ordinarily such a small creature would avoid confrontation, wouldn’t they? He paused, tilting his head to the side as Sera giggled next to him, while Varric explained that nugs, while cute, pretty much just ‘shit on the floor and roll around in it’. 

Cassandra added that Leliana was incredibly fond of the little creatures, saying she kept them as pets.

Erevard snorted amusedly, “I find that hard to believe. Do they have names?” 

“I believe so. One was called… Shooples? Shmepples? Ugh… It is right on the tip of my tongue!” 

“I’ll ask, see what she says.” Adding a wink to the statement got Cassandra to smile. 

He could see the… appeal, in them. They were small. Small things are cute. Though the lack of any fur and tiny, beady black eyes were… Something else. The closest thing he had to a pet was his chocobo, which was an entirely different creature altogether compared to this. Still, it warmed his heart to know Leliana had a soft spot for the little things. They seemed harmless.

The nug’s ears flit back and forth as it stood on its hind legs, sniffing the air in their direction before tilting its head to the side inquisitively, chirping some more before running off. 

Well, at least today was improving. 

 

* * *

  
  
  


Solas was thankful the day passed by rather uneventfully after Erevard’s display in the morning. It was entirely unsettling to see, once again, his profound power over the bandits. Erevard was a danger to his eventual plans; and for that reason he had to pay close attention to what he could do and couldn’t do. There was absolutely no way Solas could hope to kill the man in combat in his current sorry state, nor could he afford to with the Mark on his hand still required to seal the Breach. 

Erevard already stood high within the Inquisition, how far could he go once all of Thedas knew what he could do? 

The Mark itself also worried him. He had not warded it whatsoever since the first set of wards, and he was rapidly growing more and more accustomed to it. The thing never flared once, nor did it pain him. Solas asked Erevard to alert him if any changes were to happen, and the man agreed, but nothing was happening. 

It worried him immensely, as Erevard was a seasoned magic user underneath all those Crystals he used. Could he figure it out, eventually? The lack of using the Fade at all gave him hope, but it was another thing to add to the growing pile of worries that Solas had concerning the ‘Herald’. 

Warrior of Light, he corrected. 

Wisdom was still being vague and evasive on any attempt to speak about Erevard as well, which utterly frustrated him. He still had not seen anything change in the Fade when their days were over, hoping to catch a glimpse of his dreams or something of a presence within it. But nothing ever happened.

The evening passed by as it usually did, everyone sitting at the campfire listening to Erevard recount some insane adventure he had back in his home world.  Sometimes he repeated them, albeit leaving out or adding information as there were new members coming in. Tonight he shared the story of how a great wyrm named Midgardsormr stripped him of his ‘Blessing’ – it was pointedly an attempt to speak to Bull about his dislike of dragon slaying – as he ended the tale with how he regained it, as well as the favor of the dragon himself. 

“So you’re saying he… Followed you around, as a tiny dragon.” Bull says with disbelief in his voice, scratching at his head.

Erevard merely nods and shows them with his hands the approximate size of the little dragon, to which Bull erupts into laughter over. “Ya think he could follow you over here?”

Solas absolutely does not need that to happen, and waits nervously at Erevard’s response – he heaves a sigh, shaking his head while resting his hands on his lap once more, “I thought about it, but I can’t feel him there right now. It worries me, if I’m… Too far for him to hear me. I wondered if I should try calling for him, but maybe at a better time when I may actually need him. He’s come before, without any prompting too.” 

“Oh yeah?” Varric asks, scribbling all of this down as usual. 

Erevard nods again, “I am not going to explain what Omega was as its way beyond anything I know about, just picture it as a giant… black, beetle-like machine, really… With… The ability to create new realities…?” The last part comes out as though he’s confused himself. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squinting in the dark as he rubs his eyes, “I can’t explain it. Hells, I doubt Nero and Cid could explain it and they were there with me as the scientists. Point being – Omega trapped me and was about to kill me. Bastard gave me two whole minutes before I die.” He laughs half-heartedly, half-nervously, it is unsettling.

“Midgardsormr rips through the dimension we were in and breaks me out, and I swear I can feel my Blessing going all sorts of crazy. He tells me he has to return to his slumber for a while, and the form that follows me is him only in form – not in spirit. I can call him as a sort of mount I guess, but I haven’t done it since then. Much prefer my chocobo anyway, it doesn’t talk back to me when I wanna stop for something. But…” His eyes close and he takes a heavy breath, his expression changing to one of sadness as he continues, “I wonder if I should call him and he doesn’t answer. What if I call and it’s just… the form. The soulless form of him?” 

Silence hangs in the air for a few moments, and even Solas feels off put by Erevard’s depressing admittance. They know he feels alone despite having this group he has formed. They, at the end of the day, are not his real friends, and he is alone on Thedas. The one being he may call that is familiar would not even truly be familiar to him, then. 

Solas can sympathize, but such feelings are dangerous if he lets them go too far. It is better this way-

“You should try, though. It’ll suck but, having a dragon of sorts seems like a good idea for your Inquisition, yeah?” Bull breaks the silence, rubbing his chin contemplatively. 

“Or a terrible one. The Chantry would not approve of such-” 

“Fuck the Chantry, Cassandra.” Erevard interrupts the Seeker, and even though Solas was almost thankful she opposed it, Erevard was very adamant about his feelings for the Chantry lately. Solas didn’t care much for it, either, but a dragon was not something he needed to add to Erevard’s arsenal either. “I’m tempted to do it just to see the look on Roderick’s face if I come in to Haven riding a dragon, honestly.” 

The group laughs, while Cassandra rolls her eyes and groans. Solas does not join them, even if he too would like to see the face of that particular man drain of color. 

“How big’s it?” Bull asks, taking a swig of his alcohol in hand. 

“Eh, bout two or three horses, maybe? I’ll call him if we need him, alright? I’m just…” Erevard takes his own swig of his water skin, preferring to remain sober compared to Iron Bull, thankfully. He stands up, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and looking to his tent, “I’m gonna go to sleep now. Goodnight, everyone.” 

It was incredibly easy to upset the man when asking him about his world. Solas wonders if he would feel the same. 

The group breaks apart into their tents, and the only sound in the camp is the occasional on-duty scout moving about, and the flickering of the campfire.

He searches for Erevard as he does every night in the Fade, and he does not find him once more.

He finds a boy with silver hair and blue eyes instead. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas' actions have consequences. Hydaelyn's Blessed child may not be quite as Blessed as we thought...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated having him this way but fuckit.jpg 
> 
> Also Solas goofed hard.

_The boy stood alone, inside a dark mist in the realm of the Fade. Nearby, the other members of the inner circle dozed, surrounded by vivid images of their own dreams._

 

_Erevard's sleeping form lay below the boy, who sat next to him like a watchful guardian, one hand outstretched over his form - aglow with a gentle blue light._

 

_Although the boy - who Solas now realized shared the same long ears and neck that Erevard did - made no immediate recognition of his presence; the air hummed with a sense of listening - a watchful intent. Whatever this boy was, he was most definitely powerful._

 

_Solas was unsure how to approach this. He would have counted the boy as a spirit of sorts taking the form of a memory, perhaps, but the familiar blue gave him pause. Would a spirit mimic his aether, and what was it_ doing _to Erevard? And the darkness…_

 

_Looks were deceiving with Spirits. This boy took on the appearance of what had to be an Elezen child, with immensely long - and now that he had taken a few cautious steps closer, he realized the initial silver colour was actually quite close to a blue - dressed in some tattered looking woolen robes. The boy was pale, with a few spots of freckles over his cheeks and nose, and deep blue eyes finally turned to him as he inched closer._

 

"You shouldn't bother him. He's very tired."

 

_Solas stopped, eyes narrowing. He shared Erevard's foreign accent - albeit with a child's voice, naturally._

 

"I merely stumbled here by accident, I meant no intrusion to-"

 

"No," _the child shakes his head, catching the half-truth,_ "You've been looking for him for quite some time now. Wisdom told me."

 

_Wisdom told him. Why would they tell him? He filed that thought away for later - pushed through the bitter taste of betrayal. He had questions._

 

"What are you?"

 

_The boy merely smiles; such a pure and heartwarming expression becomes eerie and strange… Perhaps the ‘boy’ was not inclined to answer._

 

"Are you a spirit?" _He asks instead._

 

_The boy cants his head to the side, almost innocently,_ "A strange question for one so knowledgeable of them. What do you think I am?"

 

_Stranger and stranger. If he had to make a quick guess, he would say this was perhaps a spirit of Compassion? Still, he needed more, and the slight challenge to the question gave him pause. That, and what if it wasn't a spirit at all. What if this was some magic of Erevard… That couldn't be ruled out yet._ "I still have much to learn, I would not assume of you."

 

_The dark cloud thickens, swirling around the two. Was that a trick, or part of the spirit? The boy's smile fades, he looks around him, expression turning to one of sorrow. He resists the urge to ask what is happening - instead, intently watching the darkness change, become solid as the cloud twists and writhes into black tendrils. They dart around the two, coiling around them, never pressing on them - but wrapping over them protectively._

 

_He did not fear anything from the Fade, but_ this _was unknown to him._

 

_Two beady orbs of red light open within the mass of coils, locked on him, narrowing in the darkness._

 

_He wills the Fade to_ protect _him; a barrier of light envelops him, illuminating the darkness._

 

_Even under the radiant light of his golden barrier, the darkness is bottomless. It does not shrink away, does not fade, and does not remain idle._

 

_Twin tendrils launch into the barrier, bouncing off it uselessly. They do not relent, hitting it again and again. The barrier ripples but holds; his will would not be undone that easily._

 

_He catches a glimpse of the boy again behind the dark coils, still knelt down, looking up at something- no... Standing next to him he sees the faint outline of a person, and the pair of red eyes still aglow turn away from him to Erevard's still sleeping form._

 

_A single word rings across the area, loud and muddled at the same time - but he knows what he hears is: **“Leave.”**_

 

_He needs to_ wake up. 

 

* * *

 

 

The return to Haven was uneventful during the day. The rain stopped once they’d left the Storm Coast, and they never ran into any bandits or rebels, not even a bear or something. Weird, considering the fucking things were _everywhere._

 

At night it was a different story.

 

Erevard had nightmares. Well, perhaps nightmares was too soft of a word. _Night terrors_ was a bit more apt.

 

They left him a screaming, sweat-soaked mess. He was waking everyone up after a couple of hours, screaming various names or a chorus of _“No!_ ” Sometimes he called names he’d spoken of to them: Estinien, Alisaie, Alphinaud, Thancred and so on. Sometimes he’d wake up screaming some new name: Meffrid, Conrad, to say a few.

 

The return trip was taking longer than it should have because of it; what should have taken them two days at most, was now on it’s third day - sleep deprivation bogged them down, everyone was suffering with him.

 

Solas had asked Erevard about the nightmares, if something may have triggered them, what he saw - but the man was indignant about answering; with good reason, it was obviously personal. But with him waking everyone up constantly, it was kind of becoming everyone else’s business. Cassandra mentioned they were in no great rush _yet_ so they could just deal with it until Haven. 

 

Everyone looked pretty awful. Bags under their eyes, barely able to keep them open throughout the day, sluggish and cranky… Sera had even fallen asleep on her horse at one point, falling off was a hell of a rude awakening that he wouldn’t really wish on anyone (well, who didn’t deserve it). Cassandra was becoming snappier than usual, too. 

 

And of course, it got worse.

 

On the third night after setting up camp, and Solas finishing with his wards that wouldn’t work again anyway, they had to pick who would be on first watch. Erevard volunteered, since he was going to keep everyone up anyway. The man looked like _shit,_ but he wasn’t wrong. Worse case if he passes out and gets a few hours on the road, at least he wasn’t keeping everyone up at night.

 

So everyone went to bed, and sometime during the night the man must have passed out on the log he was sitting on by the campfire and started _screaming._ They usually rattled him awake, but this time, something was different.

 

“ _Nnh… Nh… N...No.._. _No! No..! Get away from… I… I’m not… your FRIEND…! You... won’t kill me! You won’t... kill me again…! Nnh-...No! NO!”_

 

“What the _fuck_?” Bull had enough, darted out of his tent, _shook_ the man-

 

A gauntleted fist struck him square in the face and sent him reeling backwards, falling on his back. Everything went dark for a little bit, and when next he opened his eyes, all he saw was blue light. Voices were coming in, muddled, but he could start making out words.

 

“...-idn’t mean it, sorry Cas-”

 

His head _hurt_. The light was way too bright-

 

“...-iky, ya coulda killed-”

 

“I _know,_ Varric, I-”

 

“Might need to set his nos-... broke it?” 

 

_Uugghh._

 

* * *

  


He was extremely glad he wasn’t attuned to Monk once the realization that he had just knocked Iron Bull _out_ hit him. If he _was…_ nope, focus on healing him, not _that_ line of thought.

 

He apologized profusely to everyone in the camp - in part for waking them up again and for what he did to Bull. The apologies continued tumbling from his mouth once the Qunari woke up, too. His cheeks felt ridiculously hot - this was just _embarrassing._ Thankfully, his nose wasn’t broken, just a little bit bent. The man himself fixed it with a _snap_ and grunt, which Erevard set to healing afterwards as well to reduce the pain. 

 

After all that, they sat around the campfire in awkward silence. Only the occasional crackle from the burning wood making noise, or a heavy sigh from someone.

 

Bull broke the silence, “Sooo… You ever talk about those nightmares, Boss?” 

 

He did, but not with anyone he felt like sharing about. Fray knew. Fray knew _everything._ “No.” He didn’t _need_ to talk about this. Didn’t want to talk about it. Wouldn’t talk-

 

“Look, Boss. You’re… The Boss, but: back _home-”_

 

Solas scoffed loudly, “And _now_ you wish to preach to him of the Qun?” 

 

Bull shook his head, sighing, “Nope, but something’s obviously bothering him. You know what you just yelled before I woke ya up, Boss?”

 

He had a good idea. 

  
The nightmares were something he just… Got used to, back home. He could sleep through them and feel rested _enough_. Drinking helped sometimes, knocked him out quick and his dreams were blessedly free of problems. The last one had been… _Zenos._ Zenos standing among the bodies of his friends, Elidibus smiling mockingly behind him and taunting him. Zenos battling him, knocking him aside effortlessly. Standing over him and ranting about how he was disappointed in his _‘friend’_ , his favored sword pressing into his chest, _the pain bursting-_

 

And then he woke up, heart blessedly still beating, and realized he punched Bull in the face. 

 

The sound of snapping to his right brought him back to the original question, realizing he’d spaced out for a moment. Sera was leaning over to him, snapping her fingers next to his head annoyingly. “Heeellloooo, you there?” She asks, eyes full of worry.

 

Bull moved his hands in a ‘go on’ motion, still waiting for an answer to the question. The rest of the group looked at him expectantly. 

 

“No.” He half-lied, knowing it most definitely would be about Zenos. But what exactly he said? No clue. 

 

“You said ‘You won’t kill me again’.” 

 

“Oh.” His flat reaction caused the group to eye him suspiciously, obviously awaiting more, but deep down he was suddenly feeling a rapidly rising fear. Was he going to have to explain… That? Was he even able to do that here? He’d considered it when he first woke up in a _prison,_ but there wasn’t a single drop of aether in the world here. And he was incredibly lucky to be adept enough not to require the Echo to kick up in battle too much. Practice made perfect anyway, he wasn’t going to die to some little Templar or a Mage anytime soon - and dragons were going to be avoided at any cost… What _could_ kill him- _No. Don’t go there. Do not go there,_ he mentally slaps himself, not needing to spiral into what ifs right now. 

 

“Boss?” Bull calls again, waiting on a more substantial answer no doubt.

 

He bites down on his lip, debating if he is anywhere near ready to get into this. The one time he’d _known_ it had happened was… The first battle with Zenos. Raubahn and the Gridanian soldier _definitely_ had seen it, and he’d sworn the two of them to secrecy. Not even the Scions knew about it, thankfully. Alphinaud already felt terrible about sending him into danger all the time - what would he do if he knew _this_? 

 

_“You are just a man, Erevard.”_ He remembers Fray’s words from earlier - but he knows they are a pleasant lie he’s been told. No, he’s not a simple man. Never would be. He can feel Fray bristle with annoyance in the back of his mind, a tense and irritated presence now. 

 

“Mayhap it… Would be best if I spoke of this with the advisors. It’s… I’m not ready yet.” Stalling was not necessarily the best idea, but he wasn’t wrong either. Meant he wouldn’t have to repeat it, and he would have time to collect his thoughts. 

The group eyed him nervously still, worry plastered onto all their faces - Varric clapped a hand onto his knee, giving him a reassuring squeeze and a mournful half-smile. “It’ll be alright, Spiky.” 

 

No, it wouldn’t be.

 

* * *

 

 

Solas realized after the first night he had made a massive mistake. 

 

Whatever he saw in the Fade that night was more than likely keeping these nightmares of Erevard away; and now he’d frightened it, leaving the man to suffer them again.

 

In the morning, after one more screaming induced wake-up call for the others, he’d admitted that he always suffered them - he had just _gotten used to it._

 

And Solas had accidentally robbed him of being free from them.

 

The real problem still remained that he had no idea what the boy was; if it _was_ a Spirit or not was still unclear to him. Wisdom had not appeared to him lately either, they were either actively avoiding him or simply not around. If it wasn’t a Spirit, then what was it? 

 

He was leaning to ‘not Spirit’ after the ghastly display of… Darkness appearing and trying to attack him. _Something_ was trailing Erevard’s unconsciousness, and it was fiercely protective of him. If the boy was perhaps a part of it, then…? 

 

Leliana may suspect something changed now that he was having vivid nightmares, and would more than likely come to him with questions as well. And he would have absolutely no answers, obviously, but the prospect still worried him. 

 

Could he even flat out ask Erevard? The man was secretive about many things, and this did not seem like something he would _tell them._

 

He would need to be more careful, but Erevard once again raised more questions than answers.

 

* * *

 

 

They arrived in Haven after another day of traveling in the morning. After an all too missed breakfast that wasn’t road rations, the entire inner circle was to report to the war room. Dorian had also come to Haven, and would be in attendance after speaking to the advisors about wanting to tag along for the confrontation with Alexius. Apparently he had sent another invite a day ago, asking for Erevard to come _alone_ to the castle.

 

He _probably_ could do it alone, but no point risking himself - Alexius was up to something, and Leliana had plans for the castle, apparently. There was apparently some arguing between the spymaster and Commander about sending him alone already, though at least that got him to laugh. _If only they knew…_

 

The quick briefing consisted of what they’d cobbled together already: Dorian knew the traps, Leliana was going to send in a bunch of her scouts to get through them and into the heart of the castle. Erevard would walk in, spring the trap and the scouts should already have combed through the castle to arrive at the main hall where Alexius would hopefully be. Apprehend the crazy magister, find out about the supposed ‘cult’ of the Venatori and then everyone goes home with them to seal the Breach.

 

A nice plan. He couldn’t wait to see how it’d go wrong.

 

So after the circle was briefed, Vivienne and Dorian included; Erevard was given the floor by Cassandra who announced he needed to ‘share something’. The advisors and two mages who were not present were obviously puzzled, though the rest of his group seemed impatient. Bull in particular gave a little cough, urging him to speak once he’d nervously began rapping his fingers against the table.

 

He’d been given an extra day to think on this. A damn shame that he was a _coward_ and mentally swept it under the rug. Of course no one was going to forget, he had no idea why he even entertained _that_ stupid idea. 

  
Alright, just _say it._

 

“I don’t die.”

 

There, easy-

 

The looks everyone was giving him said that it was in fact, not that easy. Total confusion and a bit of disbelief? 

 

“What.” Cullen said flatly.

 

Biting down on his lip, his heart thundered in his ears and threatened to beat itself out of his chest. He reluctantly continues, “Hydaelyn doesn’t let me die. I… My Echo. I… Cassandra?” He turns to her and she looks utterly _lost._ “The dragon. I _see_ things… On the ground? I know where something is going to happen - I can’t always tell what is going to happen but I _know_ something will. That’s why I told you to _move.”_

She sadly didn’t know this at the time, maybe they would trust him from now on about that kind of order. “Sometimes I’ll… know that if I get hit by _something_ , I’ll die. I see a brief flash of what it looks like if I got hit, and it’s usually _fatal._ So I know what to dodge and when. And then… I… Well, what happens if I don’t dodge it?” A bitter laugh escapes him, he doesn’t even bother to stifle it, they _heard him_ after all. “I died. Zenos, the crown prince of Garlemald - a _monster_ that I hesitate to call a man - he ran his sword right through me. I died when… When Raubahn came. This poor soldier was trying to heal me and I just…”

 

He died. Blood poured from his lips with each ragged breath he took, while his heart beat weakly - until it didn’t anymore. The world went black. Then blue. 

 

Then he heard _Her_. Hydaelyn whispered to her beloved child that it was not his time yet, She would not let his Light be snuffed out. This was not the end of this hero’s tale.

 

And then he woke up.

 

Blood soaked through his clothes, the white scarf he’d always worn at his neck stained red, and the sand with it. He was laying down in the sand on his back, face to the sky - and Raubahn’s broken sobs could be heard nearby; his voice a cracked, shaky mess as he spoke. “ _Find_ the Scions, they… need to know.” He didn’t know who he was talking to, in too much pain still to want to consider moving even an inch… 

 

His weak cough brought the two men running, the soldier falling to his knees to stop the bleeding with his magic. And that was how he learned Hydaelyn wouldn’t let him die. 

 

The tale drains all colour from the faces in the room, an uneasy silence hangs in the hair, because what do you say to someone who tells you they _died?_

 

“Boss… I… Didn’t mean to-” 

 

Erevard interrupts Iron Bull with a raised hand, “Don’t. But this doesn’t leave this room. Not even the Scions knew about this. I would not burden them with it unless I must. I can count the times I have died on one hand, and I would like to keep it that way too.” 

 

He does not tell them that he worries She could not bring him back here, and he does not tell them of the other times. One was too much already. He does not tell them more, and asks the advisors to brief the newcomers - Dorian included - on the nature of his ‘Echo’. 

 

Veering the meeting back to the goal of ridding Redcliffe of Alexius, he asks when they want him to leave. They are given two days to rest up - to which he mentally laughs at, at least he’ll have his own cabin again so he won’t wake everyone up - and the meeting is concluded.

 

Fray is silent that night, even going as far as to ignore his pleading. 

 

He hopes he hasn’t made a mistake.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not pictured: Bull learning about the flashbacks thing from Cullen and shitting a brick, realizing that was part of why Erevard was like :SHRUGS: at him being a spy. 
> 
> Next up: In Hushed Whispers
> 
> Spoilers: It's bad.
> 
> Also bonus spoilers: Emet is going to have a terrible surprise at one point with this revelation on Erevard's mortality~


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Hushed Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like Erevard and wanna see more of him I am currently working on an Ascian WoL AU as well for him - the fic is called Pieces of Him and will include grandpa Emet as well, because I have a problem.
> 
> Now on to the show - so we can get closer to grandma Emet appearing!

“You… Are a mistake! You should never have existed!” 

 

_“NO!”_

 

Alexius had cast some spell, and Dorian had reacted with his own. The next thing Erevard knew, he was kneeling in utterly freezing water.

 

Because _of course_ the plan would go wrong.

 

Two men - Venatori, by their armour - whirled towards him, “Blood of the Elder One! Where’d they come from?!” One of them shouted before drawing their swords, and rushing towards him. 

 

Fire engulfed the two men, their pained shrieks of pained terror abruptly cut as they crumpled to the ground. Not the best way to go, but at least it was quick enough. 

 

Dorian stepped in front of him, “Displacement? Interesting…It’s probably not what Alexius intended. The rift must have moved us… To… What? The closest confluence of arcane energy?” Dorian knelt down in the water and scanned the room, whilst Erevard sheathed his weapons. 

 

“Last thing I remember, we were in the castle hall and… Now we’re here.” Erevard very suddenly felt the beginnings of a headache. Varric was right, why was nothing _ever_ simple with him?

 

Dorian stood up, “Let’s see… If we’re still in the castle… It isn’t… Oh!” His eyes lit up, and Erevard had a horrible feeling of what was going to come out of his mouth, “Of course! It’s not simply where, it’s when! Alexis used the amulet as a focus. It must have moved us through time!” 

 

 _Ah, there’s the full blown headache._ “Ugh. What? Where did it take us? _When_ did it take us?” Fighting an enemy with _time_ on their side and the subsequent spells attached to said power were not a battle he _ever_ wanted to repeat. Specifically since it was a bloody Primal - and yet here he was… 

 

Dorian shrugged, “Excellent question! Let’s have a look around and see if we can answer that. Then we can figure out how to get back. If we can, really.” Oh, wonderful. _If!_  

 

Erevard rubbed his temple through grit teeth, and the water at his boots was starting to soak through and get uncomfortable, “There were others in the hall, you think they’re here too?” 

 

Dorian shook his head, “Probably not. Alexius wouldn’t make a rift that big, else he’d catch himself and Felix in it. They’re probably still where, and when, we left them. In some sense, anyway.” _Lovely._

 

Erevard finally looked around the room, his stomach dropped when he caught sight of the mass of red lyrium in it with them. Several masses actually, and two were almost growing out of the walls.

 

Dorian didn’t seem to really notice it, or he simply didn’t care. Erevard stepped over to the largest cluster that was in the water with them, and slammed his shield into it. 

 

It didn’t break.

 

Dorian made a _tsk_ noise, “Well, I wasn’t going to touch it, but it seems quite durable.” 

 

Erevard shook his head and looked over the rest of the room, while Dorian set to work looting the remains of the two guardsmen. They were definitely in a dungeon, and water seemed to be leaking in from the ceiling inside and outside the cell they were locked in. How far down in the castle must they be, that water was leaking in like this and no repairs were being made? 

 

“Found a key, let’s go.” Dorian stood up and unlocked the door, the area ahead was entirely empty… Of the living, at least. Skeletal remains littered the area. Some in the cells lining the walls, others in the walkway. A prison, but were the guards also victims…? More red lyrium grew out of the walls and floors as well, the sickly red glow bathing the area with its light.

 

The halls were utterly silent and void of any living beings. Whatever happened to the castle, it was clear no one was taking care of it whatsoever. The lyrium grew within _every_ single room, Erevard began to wonder what the outside must look like. Though, that was probably a question he didn’t _really_ want the answer to. 

 

After some aimless wandering and retracing their steps, they finally found someone Erevard recognized - an elf mage who had approached them in Redcliffe, asking for help with the Tevinter magister before their meeting.

 

When Erevard approached, the man made no sign that he’d even noticed him. He stared at the wall behind him and was chanting something, swaying himself back and forth as he stood, his hands held together as though in prayer. “Andraste guide me, Andraste guide me…” The elf sounded… distant. Like he wasn’t really there, and his voice had some sort of distortion to it. His eyes glowed red, and his body had a faint red glow to it, too. There was a chunk of red lyrium in the cell with him. _Did the lyrium…?_

 

“Hello? Do you remember me?” Erevard grasped a bar to the cell, but the man still didn’t see him. 

 

The elf kept chanting and swaying, “Andraste blessed me… Andraste blessed me…”

 

Dorian placed a hand on Erevard’s shoulder squeezing it lightly, “I don’t think we can help him.”

 

_No, they couldn’t._

 

The next person they found was much more coherent, but the sight left Erevard sick to his stomach.

 

Fiona turned to them, but only with her head. Her body, up to her stomach, was _engulfed_ by red lyrium. “You’re… Alive? How…? I saw you… Disappear… Into the rift…” Her voice was weak, every word a struggle, and it too carried that strange distortion. What had the lyrium done to her…

 

“What happened to you?” Erevard looked at the lyrium and took a step closer, and he saw it was very much _growing_ out of her body. 

 

“Red lyrium… It is… a disease… The longer you’re near it… Eventually, you become this… Then they mine your corpse for more.”

 

“Can you tell us the date? It’s very important.” Dorian interjected, and Fiona weakly answered, “Harvestmere… Nine… forty-two… Dragon.”

 

“ _Nine forty-two?_ Then we’ve missed an entire year!” 

 

 _A year. An entire fucking year he’s been gone and this is what happens…?_ “We need to go back. We have to get the hell out of here, Dorian.” 

 

Fiona whimpered weakly, “Please… Stop this from happening! Alexius… Serves the Elder One. More powerful than… Than the Maker. No one challenges him and lives…” 

 

“I _promise_ I will set this right, Fiona.” 

 

Dorian told him they needed to find Alexius’ amulet, and with hope, he could reverse the spell and bring them back. That, or they were turned into paste. The Grand Enchanter said they had to try. Fiona also told them that Leliana was somewhere in the castle, but she could not tell them of the others. She’d been thrown in the dungeon almost immediately after Erevard and Dorian had ‘died’. The others that were in the throne room may have escaped, but she was unsure. 

 

This future was a cold reminder of how important the Mark upon his hand was to this world. How important he had become as Herald. Would his role now rival to that of Eorzea’s? Did it even matter at this point, if a _year_ of him being gone had caused _this?_   

 

They headed back up to where the drawbridge was, there was still another area for them to explore before they had to find a way to lower it, Dorian stopped to look up at the ceiling. 

 

“If the red lyrium is an infection… Then… Maker… Why is it growing out of the walls?”

 

Erevard looked up, too. The lyrium wasn’t shocking him anymore, but he still felt sick looking at it. Varric called it ‘evil’ back at the Temple of Sacred ashes, he was inclined to agree with that statement now. “Do you really want to know?”

 

Dorian shook his head. 

 

* * *

 

 

They found everyone. Every single one of them that was alive, infected by the red lyrium.. They all had red eyes and that eerie glow. They were _dying._

 

Sera and Blackwall were completely out of it, shock had taken any composure they would’ve had left - it was Varric and Bull who remained the most calm, and explained what exactly had happened after Erevard ‘died’. Cassandra said that Andraste must have brought him back to them, to save the world. Erevard smiled sadly at her. He vehemently denied being a Herald sent by their gods before, but she was dying, and he could afford her this small kindness at least. Vivienne assumed it was a cruel trick at first, but Erevard quickly snapped her out of it. Solas urged them to reverse this horrible mess, and even he was less composed than his usual self. 

 

 _“To you, Erevard. They have been here a year.”_ Fray whispers, that particular realization sitting like a weight in his stomach. _A year…_ he echoes in his thoughts, Fray hums in agreement. 

 

He wondered briefly if he could cure the infection of red lyrium with his own magic, but now was not the time. 

 

The ‘Elder One’ had summoned a massive demon army, and the Venatori, Alexius’ little cult, had captured the high-ranking Inquisition members for information. The demon army took Orlais and Empress Celene was assassinated. Ferelden fell next, after the Queen and King had allied themselves with the remainder of the Inquisition and tried to take back Redcliffe. They failed, horribly. King Aedan was killed in combat, and the Queen later assassinated. Ferelden crumbled soon after. Cullen and the remainder of the Inquisition tried desperately to take Redcliffe - and were either slaughtered or captured after several unsuccessful attempts.

 

Cassandra showed Erevard what remained of Cullen; the red lyrium took him incredibly quickly, they suspected it was due to him being a Templar. There was barely a body left in the mass of red lyrium that was his cell, Erevard only prayed he did not suffer too long. Josephine was captured as well, but died from torture quickly, they guessed. She was taken upstairs one day and never came back. Leliana too, had been taken prisoner but never returned to the lower cells. 

 

Once weapons had been found and handed out to everyone, the sound of the drawbridge lowering rang out through the halls. Shouting followed it, no doubt more Venatori.

 

The team took them out incredibly quickly, but there were no comments aside from Cassandra’s smug, “Just like old times.” 

 

The entire group was somber and quiet, with good reason. Erevard didn’t know if he wanted to press for details from them, and Dorian seemed to keep quiet as well. They all looked terrible, and not only because of the lyrium. There were signs of torture on each of them, scars that never healed and bruises on their faces. He did not want to know if there was more that he couldn’t see. 

 

_This will never come to pass. This cannot happen._

 

Then they found the torture chambers.

 

A mage had killed a Chantry sister for refusing to accept the Elder One was a God, and Erevard could not help but stare at her body. He heard the telltale sound of electric magic hitting a body before they’d entered the room, much too late, yet death was still a mercy to living in this world. 

 

Cassandra shook her head sadly next to him, “She is with the Maker now, Erevard.”

 

_I hope so._

 

Not much later down the hall, they found Leliana. 

 

How the stupid man had never heard the entire group coming to the door, Erevard wouldn’t know, but he wouldn’t be slow like he was for the priest. He kicked the door down, and Leliana was dangling from the ceiling, the stupid Venatori was holding a dagger to her throat, and as his head whirled around to meet Erevard’s gaze, Leliana wrapped her legs around his neck, and snapped it. 

 

She closed her eyes and exhaled loudly, while Erevard rushed to free her, “You’re alive…” 

 

Leliana on the other hand, didn’t really _look_ alive. Her skin was sickly grey, and her eyes were sunken and devoid of any life. Scars marred her face, and he didn’t want to know what the rest of her body would look like if her _face_ was that bad. When Erevard released her from her shackles, she rubbed at her wrist and stood like nothing was wrong. _She is… She can walk after that?_

 

“You’re safe now, Leliana.” Erevard didn’t really know what to say to her, her response was to frown. 

 

“Forget _‘safe’_ , If you came back, you need to do better than ‘safe’. You need to end this. Do you have weapons?”

 

Erevard nodded.

 

“Good. The magister is probably in his chambers.” 

 

The others walked in, and Sera handed her a second bow coupled with some arrows held in a quiver. 

 

Dorian was wide eyed and asked, “You… Aren’t curious how we got here?”

 

“No.”

 

“Alexius sent us into the future. This… His victory, his Elder One, it was never meant to be!” 

 

Leliana’s gaze hardened on Dorian. She sneered at him.

 

“And mages always wondered why people fear them… No one should have this power.”

 

Dorian shook his head at her, “It’s dangerous and unpredictable! Before the Breach, nothing we did-”

 

Leliana stepped forward, “Enough. This… This is all pretend to you, some future you hope will never exist. _I suffered,_ the whole world suffered. _It was real.”_

 

No one said anything to Leliana. Erevard knew they suffered, and he knew he would end this.

 

* * *

 

 

They found more atrocities, and so much more red lyrium throughout the castle. When they reached what appeared to be some docks, a woman was holding a man hostage - and when Erevard turned the corner, they turned into demons. The man was begging the woman not to do it, but she only told him that the Elder One demanded sacrifice, and then they were both gone. There was blood everywhere. It had to be blood magic, of course.

 

 _For magic to be used for such disgusting acts… By the Fury… Why?_   

 

None of the group even batted an eye at it, too. They were accustomed to this. This was their world, _for a whole year._

 

There were no words Erevard could say to them that would express how horrible he felt. Thedas was not his home, but knowing that a future this dark for it could happen without him? He knew he must give whatever it demanded of him, just as he would for his world. He kept repeating it like a mantra, this _cannot_ come to pass. 

 

But the thoughts of what _his_ world would look like in a year of his absence wormed their way in. With Black Rose on the horizon as well… 

 

_"Worry about that later, Erevard. Think only of what lay ahead now."_

 

The chiding voice of Fray was a _relief_ , and he silently pleaded that Fray remain with him. The cool presence and sense of _watching_ in the back of his mind almost brought a smile to his face. Should his thoughts wander, Fray would help.

 

When they reached the servant quarters, there were journals kept from some of the servants. Erevard flipped through some of them quickly, to get an idea of what was going on. Most of them wrote that Alexius became increasingly paranoid and stayed alone with his son. 

 

_Felix was still alive._

 

He did not know what Felix was suffering from, but he had a horrible feeling about what this meant for the poor man. When they found the father and son, Erevard’s heart sank.

 

Felix looked _worse_ than Leliana, and he did not speak to them. He was crouched down at Alexius’ side, his eyes wild and darting around the room, as though he were unable to focus -  like he wasn’t even aware of where he was. The only way Erevard knew it was Felix was because of his clothes. His hair, his skin, everything - he looked dead already, and for a long time. A walking corpse.

 

Alexius did not even turn to face them when they entered, he just looked down at something in his hand, presumably the amulet he used in… the present.

 

“Alone, Alexius? No guards? No Venatori? No trap?” Erevard shouted, and still Alexius did not turn.

 

When he answered, his voice was low and broken, like the man simply did not care anymore. “I knew you would appear again, not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure...” 

 

“Was it worth it, Alexius? Everything you did to the world! To yourself?” Dorian almost snarled at the man. Dorian once looked up to Alexius as a mentor. To see your heroes fall low… 

 

 _"Low being an understatement. This bastard brought the end of the world, Erevard."_ Fray says flatly. 

 

“There’s no point. It doesn’t matter now. All we can do… Is wait for the end.” Alexius said.

 

“We can undo this, Alexius. All of it.” Erevard interjected, but still Alexius would not turn to face them.

 

“How many times have I tried? The past cannot be undone…. All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? Ruin and death! There is nothing else! The Elder One comes for me, for you, for us all…”

 

Leliana emerged from the shadows, grabbing what remained of Felix, holding a dagger to his throat while his head dangled helplessly. He looked utterly lifeless, even in her grasp. Erevard briefly wondered if he was truly aware and was welcoming death…

 

Alexius reached out for his son, but Leliana only tightened her grip and brought the dagger closer. “Felix!”

 

Dorian gasped next to Erevard, “That’s… Felix? Maker’s breath Alexius, what have you done?!”

 

Alexius looked frantic now, his eyes darted from Dorian back to Felix, “He would’ve died, Dorian! Please, I’ll do anything you ask!”

 

Erevard looked up to Felix, and while he knew deep down the man was utterly innocent, he was not truly alive like this, either. Would it be right to bargain his life now? What little life there was in that husk of a man? He thought back to who he met in Redcliffe - Felix, still full of life and willing to help them, to give his father a chance to stop this madness… _Can I truly do this?_

 

“Give us the amulet, Alexius. We’ll let him go.” He felt sick that the words left his mouth, but there was a chance they could do this without bloodshed. Maybe Alexius could even-

 

“Let him go and I swear you’ll get what you want!”

 

Leliana sneered, “I want the world back.” 

 

There was the sound of metal meeting flesh, and Felix slumped to the ground.

 

Alexius _screamed._

 

* * *

 

 

Erevard didn’t know if he wanted to yell at Leliana, but the sight of Alexius’ body at his feet made the words catch in his throat. He wanted to leave, _now._

 

Dorian stood next to him and looked down at the body of his old mentor, “He wanted to die, didn’t he? All those lies he told himself… The justifications… He lost Felix long ago, and didn’t even notice. Oh, Alexius…”

 

Erevard didn’t answer him.

 

Dorian picked the amulet from Alexius’ corpse, he was still clutching it even in death. “This is the same one he used before, possibly the same one we made in Minrathous. At least that is a relief… Give me an hour, and I should be able to open the rift.”

 

Leliana stepped forward and shouted, “An hour?! That’s impossible, you must go NOW!”

 

Because literally everything wasn’t wrong enough, the room shook and something that sent a shiver through Erevard’s body roared. 

 

Leliana’s eyes narrowed, “The Elder One…” 

 

“You cannot stay here!” Solas shouted from the other end of the room, Erevard had not even noticed the group was moving to the doorway, “We will hold the outer door, when they get past us, it will be your turn.”

 

Solas looked pained… They… Were walking to their deaths. Erevard couldn’t let them. Not like this. Not when he could save them. Not his _friends_. Elder One? How many bloody Primals has he slain? Some _God_ wouldn’t best him, not now, not _ever._

 

“Leliana, you _know_ what I am capable of. I can _kill_ this thing if you-” 

 

Leliana stepped in front of Solas, “Look at us, Erevard. _We’re already dead_. The only way we live, is if this day never comes. It doesn’t matter if you kill it now - if you even can. This _cannot happen._ Cast your spell, you have as much time as I have arrows.”

 

And so he watches the people he had started to call his friends walk to their death, the heavy door they step through shuts behind them with a heavy click. They do not even look back to him - they have already accepted death.

 

Leliana stayed as the final line of defense with them.

 

He couldn’t say how long it took before the banging on the door started, and when it did, Leliana began speaking - he recognized it immediately, their ‘Chant.’ Having heard it throughout Haven enough. She readied her bow, and even though Erevard knew what the door finally being broken down meant, he was not ready to see the bodies.

 

A terror demon threw Cassandra’s lifeless form to the ground when the door finally broke, and a scream tore through his throat, unsheathing his sword to _stop-_  

 

Dorian grabbed his arm when he reached out, sword at the ready, “If you move, we all die!” 

 

Arrows flew and hit their marks, the Venatori and a swarm of demons coming through the door were being picked off, but nothing prepared Leliana for the terror demon’s claws. The last thing Erevard saw was Leliana meeting his eyes, before the terror demon tore her open.

 

* * *

 

 

There was a flash of green light, and then he was looking back at Alexius in the throne room.

 

Alexius took several steps back, his eyes wide and full of shock.

 

“You’re going to have to do better than that.” Dorian spoke with smugness in his voice, like nothing that just happened had bothered him.

 

Erevard briefly registered that before he grabbed Alexius’ neck and tightened his fist.

 

Cassandra called his name, he heard footsteps, but he didn’t care at this moment.

 

“I should _kill you_ for what you just did, Alexius. _”_ Erevard snarled at the man, trying to hold his voice in check, but he knew just how angry he sounded when the footsteps stopped and he heard gasps. Right now, all that mattered was strangling the life out of this wretched man.

 

“ _To prevent that horrid future._ _To save them all.”_

 

Alexius did not respond, he only looked towards Felix with sorrow in his eyes, even as Erevard was ready to choke the life out of him. “You… Won…” His hand reached for his son, “Felix…”

 

_Felix…?_

 

Erevard threw him to the ground, Felix rushed to his father. “Father… It’ll be alright.” 

His rage cooled, that the man could still look at his father like that, after what Erevard had seen… He pitied Felix in this moment, but he was innocent…

 

“You’ll die…” Alexius almost whimpered, his head shaking at Felix as he spoke.

 

“Everyone dies.” Felix said it with a weak smile, and Alexius bowed his head before the Inquisition soldiers took him away.

 

Dorian, ever the comedian of course merely said “Well, glad that’s over with!”

 

Of course it wasn’t. Soldiers Erevard had never seen before marched in and took up positions in the throne room. 

 

“Or not?” _Dorian. Shut. Up._

 

A voice boomed from the doorway, “Grand Enchanter! Imagine how surprised I was when I learned you gave Redcliffe castle away to a _Tevinter Magister!”_

 

Fiona stepped forward, her head bowed low, to the man who called out, “King Aedan!” 

 

Erevard looked towards the King.

 

He was rather tall, for human standards, and had shoulder length black hair, smoothed down with some pomade like Cullen used. A scar that ran from his left eyebrow, down to the corner of his lip, over his eye. His eyes were a light blue, and he was clean shaven. His nose looked like it had been broken once, but mended almost correctly. He was rather pale as well, although nowhere near Erevard’s skin tone - and well built for a King, this man used to be a fighter, or still was.

 

“Especially since I’m fairly sure Redcliffe belongs to Arl Teagen?” The man had a Ferelden accent, but his voice was a bit deep compared to others he’d heard around here. 

 

Fiona stammered through her words, “Your majesty! We… never intended-”

 

The King sneered at her, “I know what you intended, I wanted to help you, but you’ve made it impossible! You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden.”

 

Fiona suddenly gained a backbone and answered without tripping over every single word out of her mouth, “But we have hundreds who need protection! Where will we go?”

 

Erevard knew this was his cue to step in and resolve this, even though he was utterly livid, “I should point out that we _did_ come here for Mages to close the Breach.” He walked towards Fiona and stood next to her, and the King raised an eyebrow at him - probably sizing him up as the ‘elf freak’ was finally in front of him.

 

“And what are the terms of this arrangement?” Fiona asked.

 

Dorian interjected, “Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you? The Inquisition is better than that, yes?”

 

_Dorian is starting to test my patience._

 

Cassandra added her thoughts, as did Solas. Both of them disagreed on conscription and then flat out allying with them. Thankfully, no one else protested.

 

Fiona sighed, “It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer.”

 

Erevard looked at everyone around the room, and he too sighed loudly. “Cass, I _hate_ you are putting this on me. And _you_ ,” He pointed at Fiona angrily, “Better not make me regret this, but… we would like you as allies of the Inquisition.”

 

Cassandra immediately announced her very obvious disagreement with her tone, “We’ll discuss this, _later.”_

 

Fiona wore a weak smile, “I pray that the rest of your Inquisition honors your promise, then.”

 

What little good grace Erevard had left in his body evaporated in that very moment, “I am doing this for the Breach - that is most important right now, and as I said, _Do. Not. Make. Me. Regret. This._ Dorian and I just…” He threw his hands up, probably best he didn’t talk about that now, 

 

Thankfully, the King decided to add something, “I’d take that offer, if I were you. One way or another, you’re leaving my kingdom.”

 

Fiona bowed her head, “We accept. It would be madness not to… I will gather my people and make for Haven. The Breach will be closed, you will not regret giving us this chance.”

 

Erevard rubbed at his temple, that headache from… the future, had never really left him. _I better not._

 

“Herald?” The King called him _Herald. Oh, lovely!_

 

Erevard turned but didn’t say anything, as he was suddenly aware he did not know how to address a King here. 

 

Thankfully, the King didn’t seem to care. “I am told you are not of our world, I would like the chance to speak with you about that, one day. You are not what I expected.” The man smiled at him.

 

It wasn’t meant as an insult, but it still bothered him. Just another thing to get used to in Thedas, of course. “Certainly. Perhaps my ambassador could arrange something with your people…?”

 

The King nodded, before turning around and leaving with his troops.

 

Someone clapped behind him, and he turned to see it was _of fucking course,_ Dorian. “Lovely! You have your mages, and you got to meet the King! Fascinating life you lead, Herald.” 

 

Erevard groaned and looked at Cassandra, “Cullen is going to kill me for this, isn’t he?”

 

She _laughed_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might do a time skip to the closing of the Breach, might not. It's already partly written so... We'll see~


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Your Heart Shall Burn...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever cause 1. it got INCREDIBLY long and 2. midterm + work hell week AND 3. I've been working on Pieces of Him too. Wooooooops. 
> 
> Hope the massive chapter appeases yall <3 Enjoy!

It took nearly two weeks to setup the closing of the Breach, for the newly recruited mages to make the journey, for templars and soldiers to be assigned to the perimeter incase of demons - _incase something went wrong -_ and a plethora of other logistics and plans that went far over his head. He was a fighter, not so much the type to _organize_ people. 

 

It was two long weeks of _doing nothing._

 

Two horrid weeks of sitting around, not a single soul he could spar with, no side projects he could work on as he lacked aetheric crystals to craft with, not even able to leave the immediate area to gather and learn about the alien flaura to him. Back home, once there was a lull in work, he could simply teleport halfway across the world and find _something_ to do. Here? No aethernet. No friends he could visit on a whim, not counting the inner circle he'd now formed of course, no quiet home in the Mist for him to return to… Nothing.

 

Just his cabin and the rest of Haven. _Fantastic._

 

He'd resolved to spend the time catching up on sleep, as Solas had blessedly made him some awful tasting potions that lessened the nightmares - forcing him into a state of sleep where he wouldn't dream. Though, he would need to use it sparingly, such a concoction risked inviting tolerance to it. But _that_ was a worry for future Erevard.

 

When he _wasn't_ sleeping, the dummies laid outside the wooden walls bore the brunt of his frustration. 

 

Frustration at how slow this was. The lack of _freedom_ compared to home. Homesickness. Worry for those he left behind. Fear for the future without him _there._ Anger at Alexius' fabricated future. Dread at the prospect of dealing with this ' _Elder One_ '. 

 

The debrief was quick, in part due to his absolutely rotten mood. A chance that they didn't travel back with Alexius in tow - he didn't think he could hold himself back a _second_ time if he so much as looked at him again. Several important things happened in that future, that he had admittedly glossed over. 

 

One: Empress Celene was assassinated, and Orlais fell into chaos. Two: the world swiftly followed, an army of demons sweeping through and destroying the remainder of the populace, even those who managed a final stand were soon overwhelmed. How do you fight against an army of _demons?_ They don't adhere to the same rules as _people_ ; no need for rest, food and so on. Finally: something called an Elder One, some _god_ , it seemed - was behind it all. 

 

Now was it the Primal kind of god or some idiot of a man _playing_ god? He was leaning to Primal after hearing that horrid roar in the future- Well, the timeline that hopefully was no longer _real._ He hoped that was how time bending bullshit worked, anyway. After some mental gymnastics trying to decide on what to think on that, he decided to once again leave it for later, and went back to being _bored._

 

To spice things up, he'd go watch Varric and company play cards some evenings. The troops, and the Chargers always asked him to play, but he said he wasn't a gambler. (Those nights wasted away in the Saucer back home knocked that bad habit out of him rather quickly.)

 

So he watched. And talked. He talked _a lot_.

 

Bull had a mountain of questions for him, as did _everyone_ , really. The Inquisition wasn't getting smaller, quite the opposite actually. More and more volunteers came to the cause after his work in the Hinterlands - word of mouth spreading like wildfire of the offworlder sent to save the land from demons. He'd honestly been surprised at the bravery some people showed in approaching him - he stuck out like a sore thumb among the people, tall and imposing and utterly _foreign_ , and yet… There were still a large number that only openly stared, of course, but it was pleasant to see that reduced.

 

The only problem was that he was absolutely terrible at small talk.

 

So he'd glued himself to Varric or Bull more often than not. The dwarf would chat away _for_ him, and no one really approached Bull. (Aside from a few overly curious women, he noticed. Who were also _very_ brave even _to him._ He'd never had to politely decline someone before, and the experience left him red to the tip of his ears. Bull had laughed and laughed and laughed.) Then Varric teased, joking about how the Warrior of Light must have been a hit with the ladies back home.

 

They weren't. He was… a pariah. Not quite the same celebrity as some of the late Ward members were to the people.

 

Of course he was a _Hero_ , but a hero who destroyed Gods. Felled armies. Liberated nations.

 

He wasn't like _them._

 

Nor did he consider himself attractive by any means. War left scars on the body and the psyche alike - his body a veritable mess of scars upon scars. His hair whitening with age and stress combined, eyes blackened from the same. He wasn't _desirable_ to anyone.

 

Well, not anymore.

 

Varric apologized, saying Erevard had 'that look' again - meaning he was deep in thought and something was bugging him. It was _bugging_ him, but not for the reasons Varric thought. It was always ugly to dip up buried thoughts. Long, long buried thoughts. It wasn't their fault anyway - just his.

 

_For those we have lost._

 

He'd remained in his cabin for the last three days, earning himself a few visits by various people. Dorian checking in and chatting for a bit. Varric dropping off some wine for an apology. Rylen asking to spar. Vivienne commenting on how she actually _liked_ his coat, and then trying to drag him into some conversation about her distaste of Ferelden fashion. Josephine stopping by and checking in on him - and dumping a mountain of ' _fan mail'_ on him, as well as various gifts addressed to him by name. Cassandra also checking in on him, and Cullen asking if he could maybe try to teach the Templars some of his Paladin techniques eventually. 

 

Fray also visited, his mood still just as sour as his own. At least he could have a _brooding buddy,_ more grateful for merely his presence than anything. Silence was golden, sometimes, and familiarity even better. 

 

And then finally, the wait is over. Everyone is gathered, in position, and awaiting _him._ The Herald. Their savior, the _only one_ who could achieve such a feat.

 

It takes him about two minutes to close the bloody Breach.

 

And now they were celebrating back at Haven. _Back home_ , for them. 

 

Jealousy was an ugly feeling.

 

He sits alone, perched on a rocky outcrop near the walls of the Chantry, nursing a bottle of some swill he'd been 'gifted'. They were all checked for poison beforehand, but at this point he didn't much care. So long as it got him drunk enough he'd be able to smother the feelings he felt guilty about - feelings that did not befit a _Warrior of Light_.

 

A heavy sigh escapes him after he takes a large swig of alcohol - concentrating on the burn down his throat settling into a warm feeling in his belly. Another large mouthful, another sigh, before Cassandra's voice snaps his attention away, “Erevard?”

 

She approaches him, more than likely having come out of the Chantry and seen him. He heard footsteps in the snow, and the sound of her armour rattling; he turned to her just as she sat next to him, after climbing up to meet him. “I understand not enjoying parties, but why do you not join the people?”

 

Too many reasons to list, really. Too loaded of a question, and he wonders if she knows that or not. He’s been inconsistent at best with his feelings and what he reveals to the people of Thedas, flipping between reservation and secrecy or flooding them with information. “Not much for parties, honestly.” Not a lie, but an omission of truth too. 

 

She laughs softly, looking to the gathering of people below. They dance and sing, laugh and talk - the sounds of celebration ring through the air, a well-deserved reprieve from the horror the Breach had inflicted upon this land not too long ago. “Nor I. Though I am glad that the people may have this, it is needed after what we have endured.”

 

They fall silent after he hums an agreement, simply watching the festivities. He can’t make out faces nor any identifying features from this far away, safe from Iron Bull’s massive horns – but even he must admit, it was… Pleasant, to see people happy like this. Even if he would never participate, he could admire from afar content to watch. There was a good feeling, knowing he could give them this, at least.

 

Cassandra cleared her throat, breaking the silence between them before speaking again and looking at him, “I do not have the tact that Josephine or Leliana would have, but I am sorry for what you are going through. I do not understand your world, or half of the things you say sometimes, but we all know you are not happy here.” She did not look at him anymore, instead she turned to watch Haven - the people dancing below them, celebrating. “But we are still thankful for all that you have done. Solas confirmed the Breach is sealed. We have reports of lingering rifts, and there are still many questions that remain, but this was a victory.”

 

He blinked, not quite sure how to react to such a sudden admittance from the woman, “Of course, there’s always more work to do.”

 

She nodded, mouth open to speak again until the ringing of bells sounded below. Frightened shouts follow as panic breaks out amongst the people – they scatter from the festivities, running up to the Chantry now for safety.

 

Erevard looked up to the mountains surrounding Haven, torch light began to flicker across them - dark figures, too far to see what they truly were, littered the land. Cullen and the troops began mobilizing below as he shouted, “Forces approaching, TO ARMS!”

 

Cassandra was fast, unsheathing her sword and starting to run, she shouted back at him, “Come! We must get to the gates!”

 

He spared one last glance to the veritable _army_ approaching down the mountain paths, throwing aside the bottle in his hands and calling on the Soul of the Dragoon. Blue light surrounds him, and he _leaps_ to the gate, landing gracefully amidst the gathered before it. Reactions are varied, but there is just no time to chit-chat anymore. His companions gather but Cullen is the first to run to him, Leliana, Josephine and Cassandra follow once she catches up.

 

Poor Josephine looked horrified; she had probably never seen battle like this before. Leliana on the other hand, stared at Cullen with anger in her eyes. Josephine asks what banner the invaders were under, and Cullen answered they had no banner. Did it truly matter? They were under attack, it didn’t matter _who was attacking them._

 

He stands still, listening to the advisors panicked conversation – Cullen runs through their defenses, Leliana nearly shakes, unease apparent in her voice as she recounts that she had no idea this was coming. No idea what her scouts were _doing_ if they missed this. They must have been killed. There was no reason for this to slip by. Not that big of a force.

 

She isn’t wrong, this shouldn’t have been missed. But it was.

 

Now they have to deal with the hand they have.

 

He’s never endured a surprise assault like this before, has he? No, no he hasn’t. He was always too late. The Waking Sands. Ishgard. Rhalgr’s Reach. How many times did he fail the people counting on him? Too many.

 

_Not this time._

 

But still, something _gnaws_ in the pit of his stomach. His chest tight, throat dry. What kind of battle is _this?_ He’s protecting a miniscule settlement, with a few wooden walls up for defense. What in Seven Hells is coming at them? An army. And he is.. One man.

 

The gate before them rattles, heavy pounding on the other side, and a voice rings out. A young man’s, pained and behind them shouted, “I can’t come in unless you open!”

 

“Survivor!” Erevard ran forward, instinct guiding him. A quick-thinking guard with him opened them immediately, swinging forward to reveal-

 

There were bodies. _Templar_ bodies. A very large man in equally large armour took a step towards him, before the sound of metal meeting flesh made him cry out and fall. Behind him a boy- no, young man, in disheveled clothing with a very large hat withdrew his dagger from the man’s back. 

 

“I’m Cole. I came to warn you. To help.” The young man sounded frantic and exhausted, “People are coming to hurt you - you… Probably already know.”

 

Erevard looked at the bodies, then back up at Cole, “ _What is going on?”_

 

“The Templars come to kill you.” 

 

 _“Templars?!”_ Cullen’s voice rang out as he stepped up to Cole, the young man flinched and backed away, anger filled the Commander’s voice.  He turned to Erevard, “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the Mages? Attacking blindly?!” 

 

Cole answered, “The Red Templars went to the Elder One.” He turned to Erevard, “You know him? He knows you. You took his Mages!” Cole pointed to the hills where a lone man stood - presumably a Templar from his armour, _“There.”_

 

What climbed up next to the man made Erevard sick. 

 

It may have once been human, but whatever it was now was an absolute abomination of a person. The thing was tall - taller than Erevard by quite a bit, and incredibly gaunt. Even from this distance, he could see the skin - what remained of skin at least - covered the bare bones of the creature. Its arms were extremely long and thin, with massive claws instead of fingers. Red Lyrium grew from its chest and face, stretching its skin grotesquely. It didn’t even have hair on its head, just masses of crystalized red lyrium jutting from what should be where hair would be. 

 

Cullen said something about the man, the human one, but Erevard wasn’t listening. Cole said the _thing_ was angry. 

 

Erevard did not take his eyes off the ‘Elder One’, “Cullen, give me something, now.” 

 

“Haven isn’t a fortress, if we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force, use everything you can.” He pointed to the trebuchets nearby and drew his sword, turning to face the Inquisition forces, “Mages! You have sanction to engage them! That is Samson, he will not make this easy! Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives, for ALL of us!” 

 

He briefly wondered who Samson was and how Cullen knew him, but that was for later.

 

The nearest trebuchet already had soldiers on it, but enemies were beginning to trickle in - they would be swarmed. 

 

He calls for the Warrior, and it answers with a roar from his throat.

 

Erevard raced to them - the inner beast demanded his rage for battle, he would use it. _Anger_ at the gall of this army. Hate at forcing his hand in this. Rage at daring to interrupt a quiet moment that they had all bled for. Fury raging bright to _save those in need,_ the Weapon of Light in his hands and heart ablaze. There is no finesse when he cuts down the invaders. Templars were easy to kill as a Warrior, it was the archers and Mages that always annoyed him, but his companions are hot on his heels – sweeping in to deal with those he is too far from. He charged a Templar racing towards the soldier reloading the trebuchet, knocking him to the ground with a shoulder slam before sinking his axe into his head.

The beast must be reined in, the man needed to speak – issue orders, he was a leader figure to the people here. He looks to the soldier, shouting to keep reloading and he will take care of the Templars. Turning back to pull his axe out of the utter mess he had made, there was something _wrong_ with the man he had just killed.

 

He thought the future in Redcliffe had been prevented. Didn’t think he would see red lyrium so grotesquely again, barring the Elder One.

 

Oh, how he wished he was wrong.

 

Armor fused with flesh, lyrium growing out of their skin – chest overtaken by a chunk of crystal growing from where the heart should be. One eye not disturbed by the axe, reddened, not by blood but _lyrium_. Claws jut out from the leather gloves the Templar was wearing, much like the _thing_ upon the hill.

 

No time for this. No time to process that. They were monsters. Not people. He was killing monsters, wasn’t he? They were going to attack Haven, kill the people inside – the innocents, even children. _But the lyrium… Why did they have the red lyrium-_

There was no answer. No time to ask, nor wonder. A monster, more lyrium than man and flesh, had joined the battle. A hulking beast, easily near the size of a Pride Demon, towered over him, a sickly malformed claw of crystal raised as sparks of red flickered against it.

 

His Echo flashes with it, the soldier nearby is in danger, utterly unaware of the monster rearing an attack on him-

 

He was always fast, faster than the monster, faster than the soldier’s scream from his throat, and faster than Solas’ barrier flickering to life after the heavy crystal met his shield. Faster, as aetherial blue wings behind him allow him to push back against the weight on his arm. Faster as he redistributes the flow of aether, the wings shatter, his sword glows, as he forces the crystal off him with a yell – a heavy slash of magicked metal against crystal. Breaking it, flesh parting as he sinks the sword further in as the monster shrieks in pain, lurching backwards, the crystalline claw now scrambling to grab Erevard.

 

The barrier doesn’t hold, shattering instantly under the strain of something that large digging its claws against it. Burning crystal wraps itself around his torso, squeezing, and he cries out in pain. But it doesn’t stop him, his aether _swells_ at the top of the sword, still embedded in the monster. The other hand, not infected by the lyrium, but equally deformed and gangly flies to its stomach, trying to latch on to Erevard’s arm-

 

And _it bursts._

 

He doesn’t concentrate on the utter mess he has made of the beast, doesn’t look down at the blood covering his entire body. Doesn’t look at the panicked solider behind him. Doesn’t hear Solas calling his name. He’s broken a few ribs, that he knows, from the familiar pain surrounding him now. All concentration is given to that familiar task – heal himself, and keep _going._ Another burst of aether in a halo above his head does the job, Paladin being able to do such a thing was a blessing.

 

Distantly, even though he is right next to the contraption, he hears the trebuchet go off as the cool aether licks across his torso; hot burning pain reduced to a dull ache, bruised but no longer broken.

 

An avalanche had begun. Cheering followed from the soldiers, but Erevard did not join them. He watched now. There was no way the bulk that was coming survived being buried, but he waited for the snow to calm to make sure.

 

Another flare of the Echo, as he turns his head for the source, something screeched.

 

A ball of flame flew towards the other trebuchet nearby, destroying it instantly, and then he saw the dragon.

 

He’d told Cassandra he would never kill another dragon again. Unless he had to.

 

Today he had to.

 

**_Swish._ **

 

The dragon had circled around and was coming towards them, he didn’t know if it would just fly overhead or not and didn’t deign to risk it. “Keep going to the gates and start evacuating!” No time to check if anyone heard him, just hope for the best.

 

He _leapt._

It was simple, to position himself in such a way he could land upon the thing’s back with utter ease. The dragons of Thedas did not share the tact that their kin back home would have – why would they? Dragoons did not _exist_ here.

 

It was suddenly less simple when he realized the beast was _armored_. Not just with traditional metals, but _red lyrium._ Templars, dragons, Elder One – it was an army of _red lyrium._ The thing shrieked, and he saw the mouth was horridly deformed – once again sharing features with the army below, with the Elder One. It looked more _dead_ than alive.

 

He was going to make it _fully dead_ in a moment.

 

The initial leap had left him far above the dragon and now it was a simple matter of pushing himself forward, then _down_ to sink his lance in. Aether pools at his feet, and he launches himself, matching the dragon’s position, and then _down-_

As he wound up for the assault, green light flared out of his hand, a pained scream tore itself out of his throat as he lost the momentum, spiraling down past the dragon, clutching his arm desperately. His arm _was burning_ , the hot pain felt as if someone were ripping apart the inside of his palm. He’d lost his concentration from the flare and plummeted to the hard ground, pain shook every part of him – unprepared for the impact, his armour not even absorbing it so much as rattling him even more, lucky that none of the spikes had gotten him. His vision goes dark, the pain just too intense as his lungs gasp for air against the pain wracking his body. _Heal yourself heal yourself heal yourself you idiot-_

If it is Fray or himself yelling, he doesn’t know or care, but instinct screams and screams and screams at him in his head to _move._ The Echo flares once more-

He rolls out of the way messily, eyes opening as flame engulfs where he had been half a second earlier. His arm still burns with the intensity of…

 _No time for pain. No time to heal. Just_ **_go!_**

He leaps again and again for the gate, landing shakily on his legs, wobbling in place – everyone is inside already. There’s no way he’s going to be able to leap _again_ over it, not when it burns it _burns it burns_ -

The gate swings open, Cullen rushing to him and looping his arm under his shoulder, trying to carry him. Bull comes next, pushing the Templar away and simply picking up the equally large man, bridal style in his arms. Erevard doesn’t even _care_ right now, clutching his burning arm – the _mark_ glowing bright in his palm, scorching.

It’s a blur to him, all his focus on making the pain _stop._ His eyes are shut tight, teeth grit against the burning. Voices muddled come in like bad static, words unheard – only a chorus of screams, he realizes comes from him, as his arm burns hotter and hotter still.

 

* * *

 

 

Solas was _panicking._ Whatever the Elder One had done to Erevard’s Mark was rapidly killing him, the foreign magic trying incredibly hard to _come off_. It would take his entire arm with it, at best – currently it was trying to pull his _essence_ with it. They were merged, this he already knew, and would not come apart that easily. It was a messy, thoughtless spell. Maybe even designed to do such a thing.

 

Clever, but cruel. Even Solas would not wish to make it this painful for the man. _He didn’t deserve it._

So he worked as fast as he could to dispel it when Iron Bull brought the Elezen man screaming his throat raw in his arms, clawing at the Mark on his hand in blind pain. They had to hold him down as Solas worked, and it was a mercy they couldn’t see his eyes, hidden under the draconic helm he wore. He didn’t want to see the full effects of this on him.

 

The dragon roared outside, the walls of the Chantry not quite fully filtering out the noise – even on top of the collective voices of panic amongst the people huddled inside, they could hear the beast shriek. Soldiers screaming outside, orders, names, pleas, dying cries, as they fought and fought and fought, fanning out to find survivors – bring them to the Chantry, buy them time.

 

They were going to die in here.

 

Erevard finally snaps out of the daze of pain, flexing his hand as he shakily sits up, then stands, wobbling for a moment until Iron Bull grabs his shoulders to steady him. To his credit, he recovers swiftly and orders are issued – arguments are had. Cole, the spirit, says the Elder One wants Erevard and Erevard alone, he’ll kill anyone else who gets in his way. Cole can’t tell him why, the Elder One is ‘too loud’. The chancellor, Roderick, leans against a chair nearby, a bloody stain in his white robes. His breath comes ragged and labored and Cole turns to him.

 

The Commander declares this is not surviveable, they can turn the trebuchets against the mountain one last time…

 

“And bury Haven.” Erevard says flatly. A nod from Cullen, their only option: they are dying, but they can choose how.

 

“Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.” Cole, the gentle spirit, helps the dying man stand.

 

Despite the horrid state Erevard is in, he changes to the familiar white robes. White Mage, he called it, and his hands glow with the familiar blue – his aether, his magic – before the light gathers around Roderick. He did not ask permission, did not consider that the man before him may not accept such a thing…

 

But he does it anyway. Despite what the man was trying to do to him, to undermine the Inquisition. Dismantle it. Whatever the horrible little man could do.

 

And Erevard grants him this _still_.

 

The old man gasps softly, his wounds disappearing under the gentle light, and Cole smiles warmly up at the Elezen man.

 

Roderick offers his apologies, Erevard says there is no time, to speak plainly now. He tells them of a mountain passage that he alone knows, Andraste must have left him the time to tell the Herald, must have given him the purpose…

 

Erevard cuts him off, asking Cullen to get everyone out. He’ll be the bait, everyone else has to evacuate. Cullen refuses, Erevard insists. The signal was to be a flaming arrow. “ _There is no time._ Save everyone you can, GO!”

 

Solas doesn’t have the time to warn him of a second attempt at the spell, he’s already running out of the doors, down to the trebuchet, shouting along the path for the others to _leave._

Erevard was a danger to his plans, a potential enemy – an incredibly dangerous one. But at this moment he felt only one thing for the man.

 

Fear.

 

* * *

 

 

What happened next was a quick blur, the reality of almost dying still not quite hitting him.

 

Through the flames, approached the Elder One. Erevard stood to meet him. _Doesn’t look quite as pretty as a Primal, bet he’s easier than one too._

 

The dragon joined the party, landing behind him and roaring nearly to his face, teeth barred and breath hot against him.

 

“Enough!”

 

The Elder One’s voice boomed, deep and commanding, “Pretender… You toy with forces beyond your ken no more.”

 

“Do you even know what I am? And what are you? You’re about the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.” Erevard spat, he did not fear this _thing._

 

The thing spoke as if it didn’t even register what Erevard had said to it, “Mortals beg for truth they cannot have, it is beyond what you are. What I _was._ Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus.” ‘Corypheus’ raised a sickly clawed hand to him, pointing at him, “You will kneel.”

 

Erevard had to stifle the urge the laugh. Corypheus sounded mad, a man who had a taste of power and went mad with it and now thought of himself as something more. He’d seen it before. Oh, how he’d seen it before… “Is that supposed to scare me?”

 

The creature smiled as best as it could, hideously deformed as its face was, “I have come for the Anchor,” he raised a large black orb in his other hand, and it began to crackle with red light, “The process of removing it begins now.”

 

His hand shot forward, and Erevard’s mark answered it. He could not control the shaking, and it was starting to burn again.  _No! Not again!_

Loss of control was _terrifying._ He didn’t want this again. Couldn’t do it again.

 

He reaches for the familiar presence, calls for _Midgardsormr. Please! PLEASE!_ Searches for that tether that he could use-

 

Nothing. Only silence.

 

“It is _your fault_ , Herald. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning - instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched’? What you flail at rifts? I crafted to assault the very heavens.” 

 

Erevard fell to his knees, the burning increasing, his arm spasming with it. _I will not scream for this thing!_

 

The dragon crept closer, nearly curling around him. 

 

“And you used the Anchor to undo my work… The _gall.”_  

 

Corypheus curled his hand into a fist, more sparks flew from his hand, Erevard bit down on his lip to keep from yelling from the pain. In the next moment, the bastard had grabbed on to his wrist and held him up; face to face. “I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the old Gods of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption, and dead whispers. For a thousand years, I was confused. But no more! I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter, and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the Gods, and it was _empty.”_ Corypheus looked up at his marked hand, before tossing him onto the trebuchet with a snarl.

 

“The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling. So be it. I will start again. Find another way to give this world the nation and God it requires.” 

 

Something rung out in the distance, and Erevard turned to see the signal from Cullen rise into the air. Corypheus did not even seem to acknowledge it, still rambling; “And you… I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.”

 

Erevard laughed at him, biting down on that feeling of pain, pushing through it in utter defiance at the pretend God before him.

 

“You are not the first madman pretending to be a God I have killed, but hopefully the last, Corypheus.”

 

He kicked the trebuchet’s firing mechanism, and the three of them all watched as it hit its mark - the avalanche began anew.

 

Erevard did not bother to look back at Corypheus and his dragon, he only ran. The sound of rock and snow filled his ears, along with the screech of the dragon and flapping of wings, _They’ll get away, but so can I._

Something tickles at the back of his mind, a small spark of aether-

 

Instinct took over. He jumped into a crack in some wooden boards, and the world fell dark.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes, even he had to admit he made stupid decisions. Well, more often than just sometimes, really. He was basically a whole mess of stupid decisions, one after the other. That was his life as Warrior of Light, basically. Just stupid mess after stupid mess and cleaning it up, until he stumbled into the next horrible thing that he had to deal with. He almost wanted to laugh about it. Almost.

 

But what was there to be scared of? Sure, dying _sucked_ but it looked like he’d come back or at least, avoid it usually.

 

Right now however, he was looking at very real and maybe permanent death.

 

He’d never frozen to death before.

 

It _sucked._

 

It more than sucked, because not only was he freezing to death, his Mark was acting up again – whatever had happened, and he had to guess Corypheus was what happened – was making it go crazy. He’d run into a small group of demons, instinctively lifted his hand and a damned _rift_ spat out of it and swallowed the demons up.

 

He almost laughed. He was much too weak and too cold. He’d used the last of his aether to heal some of the wounds he had sustained from his tumble into… Wherever he was. A cave, somewhere. And now he was totally empty on it. He wished his White Mage robes were warmer. Wished that he never got this stupid mark, probably could’a killed the ugly bastard on the spot if he wasn’t in so much pain. Wished he wasn’t _dying._

 

A small, desperate plea for Fray was his next idea, but nothing came.

 

Now he wished he wasn’t dying alone.

 

He wanted to sleep, his lethargy getting the better of him, but that was a sign of ‘you’re going to die soon’, wasn’t it?

 

Ishgard was cold, but not like _this._ When it was cold out he could just… Sit inside the manor and drink warm chocol-

 

He didn’t want to die alone and _sad_.

 

How long was he walking in the cave? The snow? The blizzard? Soon he wasn’t walking so much as _trudging_ through snow, it came up to his knees, and he could barely see ahead – the thick blizzard and dark barring any vision he would normally have.

 

This was how the Warrior of Light died.

 

How his tale would end.

 

He didn’t even get to die back home. They would have no idea what happened to him, wouldn’t they? No one would tell the twins he was _gone._ He’d never see Thancred again, Y’shtola, Urianger… How many names could he go through before he fell over and his heart gave out?

 

Estinien. Aymeric. Lucia. Edmont. Riol. Hoary. Coultenet. Krile. Tataru. Raubahn. Nanamo.

 

How many names could he get through, that would never know he had _failed them?_

 

He opens his mouth, to call for one name in particular, the only one who could even _try_ to help him: “Hydaelyn…”

 

No answer. Only the howling of the wind, biting against his skin – his clothes had long stopped offering any protection. He feels the sting in his very bones, sapping away at whatever little strength he finally let go of.

 

He didn’t want to die alone.

 

_He didn’t want to die at all._

It was easy to finally just give up. Even though his heart was beating a tattoo against his chest, even though he was utterly terrified of the dark finally swarming his vision, it was _easy._ The snow didn’t even feel cold anymore, it was like a big fluffy cushion. He fell into it with utter ease, his fall nice and soft and _comfortable._

 

F’lhammin. Minfillia. Lyse. Hien. Yugiri. Gosetsu. Arenvald. Cid. Biggs. Wedge. Nero. Was Nero really his friend? Eh… Yeah, screw it.

 

He didn’t want to die alone.

 

But he would. At least he would die remembering his friends, even if he failed.

 

The last thing he heard was the sound of his name, whether it was the wind or a friend, he wouldn’t know. Darkness enveloped him, and he knew no more.

 

* * *

 

 

He almost expected the soft chiming of crystal, much like the last times he’d died.

 

What he got was a lot of yelling and a massive headache. So, not quite dead, and currently smothered by blankets if the warm weight over him was any indicator for what was going on. But it was blessedly quiet and he didn’t want to risk moving yet-

 

“What would you have me tell them? This isn’t what we asked them to do!” 

 

It was Cullen?

 

“We cannot simply ignore this! We must find a way!” _Cassandra?_

 

“And who put you in charge?! We need a consensus or we have nothing!” _Cullen, shut up._

 

“Please! We must use reason, without the infrastructure of the Inquisition we’re hobble-” _Ah, Josephine. Ever trying to be the diplomatic one._

 

“That can’t come from nowhere!” _Cullen. Please. Shut. Up._

 

Now Leliana joined in, “She didn’t say it could!”

 

_Fury, they sounded like children._

 

“ENOUGH! This is getting us nowhere!” Cassandra shouted, and Cullen snapped back, “Well we’re agreed on that much!”

 

At least it was quiet again, but if they were arguing, he’d better go and see why…

 

Erevard groaned and tried to sit up, his whole body ached in protest, no doubt peppered in bruises and who knows what else after his tumble. A quick arch of his back, which resulted in some wonderful popping sensations from the lack of use, and he could also feel something wound around his torso. A quick glance down showed he was wrapped with bandages underneath the furs, his armor completely removed – in a pile next to him, shown by a quick look around the tent he seemed to be in. It wasn’t very big, if he stood up he may even hit his head on the ceiling.

 

There was some more quick stretching and popping of joints as he inspected his body for damage – mostly bruises, his mark wasn’t flaring either, and he was just… thirsty and sore. Had someone healed him, maybe…?

 

The answer came in the form of Rylen darting through the flaps of the tent, breathing heavily and leaning down with his hands over his knees, as though he’d just sprinted in, “Herald…! You’re… Awake!”

 

“Yes…?” He was, last he checked.

 

Rylen straightened, controlling his heavy breaths for a soldierly salute, “Apologies for the intrusion, we were told you were awake and-“

 

“Who told you?” How would anyone know?

 

The Templar looked sheepish, as though he were a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His eyes darted between Erevard and the closed flaps behind him, “It’s… It’s best you see for yourself.”

 

He asked Rylen to leave, let him have a minute or two to dress or so. His aether reserves were still disappointingly low, and he didn’t want to waste it simply swapping onto another crystal. He also needed time to process _that_ reaction. Why would Rylen look… upset, almost?

 

Things he knew: the advisors were arguing outside some makeshift camp. It had to be makeshift, they escaped and signaled it. They were… Somewhere, that was safe for now.

 

Two: He’d _nearly_ died but something grabbed him. But what? He ran through the events he remembered when he left.

 

Confronting Corypheus. The dragon landing and circling him. His mark going crazy, again, as Corypheus tried to remove it. He called to Midgardsormr, but no answer-

 

No… There _was_ an answer, he’d just missed it, hadn’t he? That tiny little flicker before he fell…

 

Did the dragon rescue him? Was Midgardsormr _here?_

_Finally_ someone he could talk to. A real, living being from his own world. A familiar face, even if it was the dragon he wasn’t too friendly with, he’d _take it._ Maybe he could find a way home if the dragon had found him. Midgardsormr could travel across worlds, couldn’t he? It happened with Omega, even, what if he could go back home with him?

 

He could go _home._

 

Getting dressed was a rushed affair, even with his body objecting the rapid movements, he simply didn’t care. _Go, go, go, faster you idiot! He’s waiting!_

Twelve, what would Bull say to a real dragon _talking?_ What would all of them say? He could finally go, “I told you so.” And not look crazy to them.  He had a _talking dragon._ Was he mini right now? Was he big enough to ride, or was he _the really big one?_

 

He stepped outside, several sets of eyes turned to him – his circle were huddled around a large bonfire in the middle of hundreds of tents. A cold silence in the air, only disturbed by the blowing of the wind and crackling of fire – the occasional cough in the distance, the soft crunch of boots against snow as others bustled between the plethora of tents.

 

But his eyes fell on one individual in particular, a million thoughts racing in his head as he stood petrified at the sight. It wasn’t Midgardsormr. It wasn’t anyone familiar he _wanted_ to see.

 

All too familiar black robes adorned with golden pauldrons and purple patterns, and a red mask, stood out among the group.

 

“Hello, _Hero.”_

_Ascian._

 

   
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE BOY IS HERE THE BOY IS HERE THE BOY IS HERE-


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Emet-Selch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELL WEEK is over, now I can start working on this more. Woo!!!

The stares were annoying enough, but he could endure it, t'was expected of course, clad in Ascian garb. It wasn't everyday mortals saw such a sight, nor did had this _world_ ever seen one of his own.

 

However, the attempts at _small talk_ were entirely annoying _and_ entirely unwanted. His patience being already paper thin.

 

His arrival with the near-corpse of Erevard and Feo Ul sparked a cacophony of tiny mortals _swarming_ him, all incessantly yapping at him for various things. One in particular - a blonde Hyur looking man, with a ridiculously large fur trim around his shoulders asked him for 'the Herald'; which obviously meant Erevard. The majority resembled Hyur, actually. Some looked like small, lithe Elezen with their pointed ears, and a few were short, stocky people. A wide enough variety, he supposed. There was also a very, very large horned man with one eye who spent too much time with said eye locked on him. If he had to guess, he was about as tall as Erevard too. 

 

He had been entirely content to wait out Erevard's awakening, utterly _exhausted_ after traversing the rift between worlds for so long. Ordinarily he would not have run entirely on his own aether for the trip, but with how far the Warrior had been tossed, coupled with essentially carrying the aggravating pixie - he was _spent._

 

Coupled with exhaustion - his thoughts turned to home. He had been here all but five minutes and had begun to yearn for _home._ Even the Shards would be preferable to the utter wasteland this was. It was almost embarrassing, but no one here would know. There wasn't a _single_ drop of aether in this entire _star_.

 

Except Erevard.

 

Fear was an ugly feeling. Unwanted at best, and crippling at worst. It wasn't a feeling he'd found himself familiar with, for what would frighten a being such as him?

 

The answer? _The unknown._ He. Was. _Blind._ Surrounded by a vast expanse of utter _emptiness._

 

Miniscule as his soul was, he stood out like a beacon among… Nothing. Empty blackness, beyond what his eyes saw in the physical sense. Worse, that hideous azure blue that he had grown to abhor was the only thing he could see - the _only_ familiar thing to him. Perhaps fear was a bit of a strong word, but he was definitely _uncomfortable_ at best. 

 

One of the short people, a man with red hair tied into a tail, a rather large and obviously broken nose, was the first to approach him.

 

"So… You're a friend of Spiky?" ‘Friend’? Not even close, really. Not this one, anyway. The man had a rather deep voice, a bit gravely or hoarse and an accent he'd never heard before. It made sense, he suppose., New world, new accents. 

 

What he asked most certainly did not. " _Spiky?"_ The only person he _could_ mean was Erevard, but…? 

 

The man chuckled deeply, sitting next to him on the log they'd placed around the large bonfire he'd been asked to stay at. There were several armoured men watching him, guards of some kind obviously - but not quite like the rest of the soldiers. A sword with makeshift flames adorned their skirts and chests, unlike the other soldiers who wore greens and much less metal, mostly. Coupled with others occasionally wandering by, and the large horned man sitting a distance away. "Erevard, of course! Name's Varric, by the way." 

 

'Varric' offered him a hand, Emet-Selch scoffed. _The audacity of mortals…_  

 

The redhead made a hurt face, retracting the hand with a shake of his head and laying it on his lap with the other, "Well, figured I'd keep ya company.  Everyone was a bit scared of Spiky when he first popped in. Man's a big ol' softie underneath all the brooding though, I think. Should see how his face lights up when he helps people, reminds me of a friend of mine, she-"

 

"Is this _going anywhere_ or is your idea of company incessant _rambling_?"

 

Varric mouthed a small 'ouch', then shrugged, a small smile on his lips. "Alright, what would _you_ like to talk about?"

 

 _Ugh._ Too many things, but not with 'Varric'. But… He could get a few answers, surely. “How long has he been _here_?”

 

“Almost three months. I uh… Dwarves aren’t too great in the magical department, but, I imagine there’s a reason you’re asking that.” 

 

Dwarves. He was a dwarf. Interesting, the name was shared with Lalafells, yet Varric only shared the shorter stature - and even then it didn’t exactly match. And what was that about the magical department? Curious. 

 

“Quite. He has been gone from _our_ world for approximately…” Some quick mental math at the time difference he had spent upon the First, and, “Nearly a week.” 

 

Varric sucked in a breath and let out a long, low whistle, “Well, Spiky’ll probably be happy, then. He’s been pretty upset about being missed back home, mentioned his people were in the middle of a war and all…” The man turns to the fire, still the occasional crackle from the wood in the cold silence between them. A sad smile settles on his face, the bright flame lighting it up softly as he continues, “I think he’ll be happy someone’s here. He’s getting along with us but, we all know we’re not the same as his friends back home. He’s told us of a few of them, but...” 

 

Emet-Selch can only blink in response, partly glad the mask was currently hiding his expression, even if the dwarf wasn’t directly looking at him. “You have _no idea_ who I am, do you?” 

 

The dwarf shook his head, and just as Emet-Selch opened his mouth to make some utterly delighted comment about how Erevard had neglected to mention _Ascians,_ there was just the briefest little flicker of _awareness_ from his tent. 

 

Erevard was awake.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Despite being at death’s door, the man was incredibly quick at nearly leaping out of his tent, a child-like smile upon his face for but a few precious seconds at the prospect of seeing someone familiar, if he had to guess - until bright blue eyes locked on to him. A confrontation he'd directly avoided for what felt like an eternity - was basically an eternity, really - and despite the awful lump in his throat and ache in every part of his being, he initiated. 

 

"Hello, _Hero."_

 

There just wasn't enough in him to _really_ play up the whole 'evil Ascian' act around the crowd, he just _didn't care_ right now. 

 

There were a myriad of emotions that passed through the Warrior as they watched one another. Emet-Selch was mostly watching that _thing_ on his hand, and the way it had _grown_ into his soul - a small green hue to a few strands. Not much of a discolouring like Hydaelyn's taint, but still worrisome. Would it continue to grow, or was that the extent of it? While carrying him, it had been flickering wildly, green sparks flying out of his palm, even through his gloves, but never burning through his clothing, nor him.  It was utterly _bizarre_. But he could multitask well enough.

 

It was amusing to watch him figure this out, anyway. A distraction as his mind began to race on what he was going to do about _the hand_.

 

Erevard's aether was pathetically low, utterly drained, to a few meager droplets at most. But the vibrant soul remained stubbornly vivid, despite the lack of strength. He watched it flicker, curl around itself, _grow_ , shrink, and oh so much more as his face remained frozen in shock. Fragments were completely oblivious to how much of an open book they were at times, and he bit back the urge to smile at the thought, trying his best not to set off the confused Warrior even more than he already was. T'was a delicate dance, now. Upset him and risk shattering what little trust he could earn with the offerings in his sleeve? Not likely. 

 

Still, he'd wanted to study his palm up close as Erevard recovered, though he'd been whisked away as soon as he came close to the camp - thrown to the 'healers' and so on. They'd shouted something about 'the Herald' after Emet-Selch handed the unconscious man over to some giant horned man. He couldn't even tell what they were doing to heal him, either. Erevard was brought into a tent, with a multitude of people bustling in and out - some carried staves, so he assumed _maybe_ they could perform some degree of magic - but many were carrying various traditional medical tools; bandages, potions and so on. The Warrior had been on the edge of death when he'd found him, a crumpled, barely alive, frozen mess in the snow. A few more minutes at best and he very well would have died. 

 

There was no Lifestream here for the soul to return to. Where would it _go?_ The best he could hypothesize was _nowhere._ And he didn't really want to see if that would be the case, either. If the man died on one of _their_ worlds, Hydaelyn would no doubt pull him back into Her realm - until _She_ would need him to do her damnable dirty work _again._ But this… This was _a permanent_ death. While his fate under the blasted false God was unimaginably cruel - truly indescribable, really - there remained _hope_ that eventually one Shard may gain enough memories to see through the lies. He would always _come back._

 

Did he _realize_ how close he may have been to a very real, permanent death of the soul? The answer was obvious. Hydaelyn preferred her servants blind to the truth. They lived and died utterly oblivious, a sad, disgusting misuse of Her power over them… 

 

A solid minute must have passed, and while the show was amusing, he was _exhausted_. There was yet work to do - _convince_ Erevard he wasn't here to kill him. For all the man was, his gifts did not seem to favour problem solving.

 

"Usually, when someone says ' _hello_ ', you politely say it back, Hero."

 

That wiped the shock off his face rather quickly, replacing it with anger. " _Tell me why._ "

 

“Not a question I would answer with an audience. My reasons are mine and mine alone, and at the very least - only for your ears-” 

 

“ _No._ Say it.” 

 

Emet-Selch tuts, arms crossed over his chest. How utterly annoying, this little show he was making. Did he truly have no idea how low his aether was, or was he just putting up a brave front? Making demands of _him._ Pft. “Save the bravado, my dear. You are much too weak to fight me, and I find myself rather tired after the chase you sent us on. Have you any idea how far you are from home?” 

A throat cleared behind him, rather loudly. He doesn’t turn, but it comes from Varric, obviously. “So… Doesn’t sound like he’s a pal of yours, Spiky…” 

 

He only rolls his eyes underneath the mask, _what astute powers of observation Varric has._

 

Erevard only stares, ignoring the comment. His frown deepening, hands curling tightly into fists. He stands tall despite how wracked his body has been, no doubt it pains him, but he holds strong to the stoic facade, “ _Us?_ And how many of you are lurking here? Which one are _you_?” 

 

He’d known this would be trying to his patience the moment he’d left the Source. Known he would be met with hostility if he ever found him. Known he would _never_ receive a warm welcome from any of Erevard’s people, and known that Erevard himself would never remember him. Not for a long time yet, still. The Rejoining was only halfway done, afterall. But still, it was tiring. He brings his hand up to his face, and snaps - his Ascian garb disappearing in a small flurry of Darkness, his offering appearing in his free hand. Familiar Garlean robes manifest over his body, his mask and hood gone now, feeling the cold bite of the mountain air upon his vessel’s skin now. There are a few started gasps - but he only watches Erevard’s reaction - his eyes narrow angrily, jaw clenched tightly as just a small spark of aether ignites within him, no doubt defensively. Perhaps even instinctively, a flinch out of the next step that he has no doubt been witness to before. 

 

Lahabrea wasn’t exactly… tactful with this fragment. Nor were the other two he had felled; Igeyorhm and Nabriales. Erevard was familiar with what came next. His hand falls down over his face, igniting his Sigil, and he falls into a polite bow, “I am Emet-Selch, _Ascian.”_

 

“Gaius told me of you.” 

 

Emet-Selch huffs amusedly, “Of course he has. He’s been causing us some trouble, you know. Regardless, I am not here with another of my kind.” It was an entirely undignified affair, but the damned pixie _had_ flown off with some bald small Elezen man, who for whatever reason wasn’t wearing _shoes_ in this abominable cold. Garlemald had been nothing short of inhospitable to him, but this was bordering on _worse_. He could weather the cold with his own magic, but how was a _mortal_ doing that? Regardless, **“Feo Ul!”**  

 

“ _I’m here, I’m here! No yelling! You’ll frighten- Oh!”_

 

In a dazzling little display of light, the pixie manifests at his side, fluttering in the air and spinning. They clap their hands together, smiling at Erevard - who now stares with widened eyes, slightly taken aback. “Ooohh, what a beautiful soul this one has. So much more vibrance to him now that he’s up and about! Don’t you think, [ _Dark One_ ]?” 

 

“Yes, yes. Now...” The arm holding the letter given to him raised up, waving his little peace offering about to grab his attention once more, “Hero, this is a letter from one of your Scion friends. The female Elezen twin, specifically-”

 

“. _..Alisaie_? She’s…” Realization dawns on his face, a gauntleted hand slowly brought up over his mouth. “They’re alive…?” A small, strangled sob from his throat as he speaks hoarsely, words slowed and voice barely above a whisper as his eyes shut tight, “ _They’re alive…_? _They’re alive…”_     

 

He didn’t know this fragment well, knew none of them, really. Had avoided directly speaking with any of them for thousands upon thousands of years, but in each and every incarnation there was one thing that never changed. 

 

There are but a few sounds that ring through the air in the following moments, as he pulls all of the thoughts racing in his mind to a standstill - to remain utterly unfeeling at the wretched sight before him.

 

The sound of his boots crunching over the soft snow as he closes the gap, the letter crumpling slightly against the howl of the wind. Erevard, falling to his knees, his eyes shut tight as another sob wracks his body, the sound barely muffled underneath his hand. Emet-Selch, holding the letter before him, straining to keep his face utterly neutral as Erevard’s bright blue eyes, filled with barely held back tears look to his own golden ones, then to the letter held before him. 

 

He thinks to the brave little soul that had given it to him, as Erevard shakily grabs it from his outstretched hand, he lets it fall to his side and takes a few steps back. 

 

Alisaie, the only brave little Scion who had dared to approach him, to ask him a favour no less. Not even an adult yet, and making demands of _ancient beings._

 

_“You give this to him, it’ll explain everything. Make sure he reads it, and you’d best not open it, either.” The girl barely comes up to his chest, but she stands tall - chin held high, a slight grimace upon her face as she abruptly shoves a sealed letter up to him. He doesn’t hide the little amused noise at the utter audacity of this little soul, and her frown only deepens, shoving the letter a little closer to his face. Now, she was pushing it.  The others are all watching the interaction within the Ocular with curious intensity and barely restrained bitterness. None of them wanted him around, of course._

 

_“And why would I do that?”_

 

 _“Because you said you were going to help him, but you’re an Ascian. Are you really going to just walk up to him, and think his first reaction won’t be to attack you? We know him, we love him, but he won’t_ know _. Let us help. And...” He snatches the letter, holding it up to his face to inspect it. She’s sealed it with wax, and while he could simply recreate the seal with magic-_

 

_“He’s… Not always the brightest. Be patient with him. Please.”_

 

Erevard has almost greedily torn the seal, holding the letter with both hands to his face, eyes squinting in the dark and against the tears now running down his cheeks. It must sting, with how cold the air is, he thinks to himself. But he doesn’t care, kneeling in the snow still, eyes widening as he goes further and further down the page. 

 

He wonders what the girl wrote. Wonders what she is to him, what they are to each other. What the Scions give him, even as they send him again and again into battle. Not too different from _Hydaelyn_ , in many ways. But they too were servants, unknowing to the truth of the world they lived in. Until he told them. Was she explaining the very same lesson he had bestowed upon them, or perhaps offering him words of comfort? They were _safe._ Alive. 

 

Emet-Selch watches the way his soul curls into itself, a tightly knit mass of _blue_ against a background of sheer emptiness, and while he knows he shouldn’t stare at the man in such an intimate moment, the entire camp is watching, too. They called him ‘Herald’, earlier. Even here, so far away from home, he had been thrust into some role he had never asked for, hadn’t he?

 

_Oh, Hero…_

 

There are no sounds other than the crackling of the fire behind him, the low howl of the wind, and Erevard pulling the letter to his chest, his eyes shut tight as his head lifts to the sky. A free hand reaches up to cover his mouth once more, until he finally lets go. 

 

The Warrior of Light _weeps._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: the journey to Skyhold
> 
> It won't be as angsty, I swear


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Journey to Skyhold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'm alive
> 
> So I struggled with several POVs for this chapter and had written a Solas and Bull Pov but scrapped 'em. Forced myself to write a tiny bit of Cole which... Terrifies me. Hope I can do that justice, even a tiny bit would be great. I love him but DAMN.

The ever growing sting of the cold against his skin, well past seeped into his clothes as he wallows in the snow pales in comparison to what eats away at him. Pales to the feel of uncontrolled tears stinging his eyes, that he can't just blink away anymore. Pales to the horrid choking feeling wound around his heart, like a ring of thorns squeezing, burrowing in to him. Pales in comparison to the frustrated, broken scream trying to claw its way out of his throat, held down only by the pathetic sobs drowning it. Pales still, to the ache in every part of his body - a reminder he had _nearly died again_ not too long ago - an ache slowly spreading into his head, pounding his skull with a steady rhythm in tune to his heart, as he finally _lets go._ In the snow, uncaring, because it _doesn't hurt as bad_ as what he feels inside. In front of the Inquisition. _In front of an Ascian._

Pales to the death of hope deep down in his heart, for his hope to return home had come in the form of an Ascian. Pales to that ever present self-loathing worming its way through his mind that he had nearly _forgotten_ his true home in the wake of tonight's events. That he had almost given up. 

Was it all bad? No. The Scions were safe. They were on the First shard, all of them. Thancred had been there the longest - the flow of time between worlds was not _exact_ , and years had passed for them. 

But then, why was he here and not there? No answer came in the letter. They didn't know, either. The man who had summoned him- well, _attempted_ to summon had no concrete answers. All the 'Crystal Exarch' knew was something went wrong with _all_ of them. Erevard had been the target of the spell, but the Exarch had accidentally pulled his friends instead. 

He'd laugh if he could. Laugh long and loud at the absolute joke that was. Why didn't he earn a say in _anything?_ This Exarch needed him to save the First from a Flood of Light, and just thought to summon him all willy-nilly. And he didn't even do it right. At least he got the saving a world part right, though. He'd be saving Thedas. Wrong world, but he was here now. 

And then came the Ascian's role. Apparently he'd made quite a ruckus when he'd been _flung_ to Thedas, and it caught the attention of _them._

Emet-Selch had plans that required he be alive and well. Plans that, he needed to talk to the Ascian about. He'd been unclear and vague to the Scions. The only saving grace was that the Ascian felt they needn’t come to another ‘round of bloodletting’, and that if Erevard could prove himself - he would consider an alliance. That required he be back _home,_ however. So then it fell to this: he _needed to trust an Ascian_? Hand over his fate to one? To go back home, to be thrown into something else he would never be able to choose. 

 _Why... why... why_ **_WHY!_ ** _?_

He was _terrified_ . Scared of the future. Worried for the Scions - for _himself_. For the Source and the First and all those upon it and-

 _And_ Thedas. 

If he died…? 

And he finally _broke._ Too much. Too heavy of a weight upon his shoulders. Just one man. Warrior of Light, Herald of Andraste. _And who would I be upon the First?_

_How many worlds…? How many titles would be chained to his neck? Shackled to some damned joke of destiny thrown upon him that he had never asked for, had never wanted?_

But the Warrior is dragged out from his thoughts, when a voice rings out behind him.

" _Shadows fall, and hope has fled,_

_Steel your heart, the dawn will come._

_The night is long and the path is dark,"_

He didn't want to look. Didn't want to be brought back to the reality of his situation yet. _Not now, not now, not now_...

" _Look to the sky for one day soon,_

 _The dawn will come_."

It was Mother Giselle's voice, and soon more joined. Closer. Louder. Familiar. 

He knows what this means. Has seen hope rise up in the form of song from people before. Knows what was given to them tonight. Knows that it is an ugly thing for him to hope to fade this very instant. It is not for him to _ever_ take this. Only to give. 

" _The shepherd's lost, and his home is far_ ,"

" _Keep to the stars the dawn will come."_

How _far_ was he? How _lost_ was he, that an Ascian was to be his hope to go back? _Could_ he go back? 

 _"The night is long, and the path is dark._ "

More join. He can hear even Cullen and Cassandra amidst the sea of voices, even Varric could be picked out. His eyes are still shut tight, but they are coming closer. The crunch of snow under boots follow as the song only rises in volume around him.

They sang for him. 

_"Look to the sky for one day soon_

_The dawn will come."_

He was still kneeling in the snow. Still with tears freely flowing down his cheeks. Still making an utter _embarrassment_ of himself.

_"Bear your blade, and raise it high,"_

The Warrior of Light didn't _cry_.

The Herald should be no different.

He opens his eyes, blinking away the remaining tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. The bite of the wind stings, but he pushes past it.

_"Stand your ground, the dawn will come."_

He straightens his back, holds his chin high and gaze low. Stands tall before the people gathering around him. Many kneel, others bow their heads as the entirety of the Inquisition joins the chorus. 

_"The night is long, and the path is dark"_

The Ascian is surrounded, just as he is. People have stepped around him to encircle their _Herald._ Emet-Selch looks to the people with widened eyes, then meets Erevard's gaze. Golden eyes narrow, a pained look flashes across his face before he crosses his arms over his chest and grimaces.

" _Look to the sky, for one day soon_

_The dawn will come."_

A million thoughts raced through his mind as the gentle singing turns to joyous cheering all around the camp. As Mother Giselle claps a hand over his shoulder, a reassuring squeeze with it as she tells him some horribly cliche lines about _hope_ that he blocks out. The letter is stuffed away into his sleeve, as he calls upon the last droplets of his aether to swap back to Paladin - the familiar armour covering him once more as he takes in the crowd.

So he set to preparing a mental checklist. One thing at a time, now. 

He had questions for the damned Ascian. A mountain of them, really. The letter wasn't _enough._ Emet-Selch spun quite the tale - and the most frightening part of it all was that it almost echoed what _Varis_ had said to them. 

The Sundering hadn't affected _just_ Zodiark - but _everyone_ on the planet. Everyone except… 

Lahabrea, Elidibus, and… Emet-Selch. 

It got worse, of course. It _always_ got worse.

One particular part of the letter had caught his eye immediately upon opening it, a word he was all too familiar with. A word that he didn't _want_ to utter here on Thedas. A word he had let slip in a moment of stupid, poorly controlled fury.

_Primals._

Emet-Selch had told the Scions that the two Gods were the eldest, and most powerful… of _Primals._

Alisaie had written some attempt at words of comfort, but…

 

_Erevard, when they find you… We’ll talk more on this, there will be more letters, I promise. We all need time to think about what this means, but for now – it changes nothing. We can’t let another Calamity happen, no matter what._

_I don't want to say to entirely put your trust in Emet-Selch, but just listen to him. He came here alone, they could have just caused a Calamity now that we're all gone from the Source - something is going on here, and you are the only one who can get it out of him. Be safe, and come home to us soon._

 

 

  * _Alisaie._



 

  
  


He had feelings about what had just transpired here. Had regrets about letting himself show that moment of sheer weakness to the Inquisition - to the _Ascian._ Had a horrid, twisted knot in his stomach when he thought about how he'd just about _died, again_ . There were questions he needed to ask Solas about the damned ' _Anchor_ ' on his hand. Questions about what they were going to do next, now that he may have a way home. Or at least, the possibility was now there.

And yet...

He couldn't leave. Not now. Not while Corypheus was here. The future Alexius had made could _never_ come to pass. He wouldn't replace it with another, either. He had to stay here. Help them. _Save them._ Erevard could still see the horror, picture clear, they had so narrowly avoided. The charnel stench within the lower levels, that never quite left, clinging inside his throat and nose, acrid rot filling his lungs as they ascended throughout the castle. The blood painting the walls, the floor, the blood _magic._

 _No_. That couldn’t come to pass. 

But how many reflections of the Source remained? How many worlds now were relying on _him?_ How many lives existed here? What about back home? _What of those he was losing right now?_ Had the war been put on hold? Impossible. Wars don't stop and go on a whim. How many soldiers of the Alliance were out there, dying because he wasn't there? What about the leaders? What if some Primal was summoned in his absence? Arenvald would have to deal with it. What if he couldn't? 

Why this? Why _him?_ Why was he _special? Why why why_ **_why_ ** _?_

He was going in mental circles. It was so exhausting. Everything _hurt._  

He looks again to the Ascian standing a few feet away from him, with the fairy-like being perched atop his shoulder. He's frowning at the fairy, while they kick their legs happily with a smile on their face - a smile aimed at Erevard.

He looks to the Inquisition. People are laughing and smiling, and while he can't make out the words they speak over the hammering sound of his heart in his ears, he knows they speak of wishes of _tomorrow._ Where to go from here, now that they have _hope_.

They had an enemy now. A clear picture of who he had to kill to make this all stop: _Corypheus._

He can work with _that._ The leaders of the Inquisition will point him where to go, just like before. Go to problem, kill problem, go home. _Simple_ . _Rinse and repeat._ Until it's over. Then… Then he goes home, and… 

_Rinse and repeat._

It's so easy to slip back into old habits. Easy to let his mind simply drift into that quiet, numb corner he used to exist in during his earlier days as Warrior of Light. Weapon of Light. Turn the brain off - let the others take over - just tell him what to do, who to kill. No more displays of weakness. No more outbursts of anger. Be quiet, and nod your head when spoken to. He's not _just_ a man. Never was. Never will be. Fray doesn't answer. It's his choice now. A choice he's made before - an answer he was never given the option of declining. One life for… how many worlds? _How many…?_

Solas calls him, and he follows to a far off corner of camp. They talk briefly over a cliffside, overlooking the vast mountains the man tells him they must traverse. 

He answers questions. They go back and forth. Erevard tells him of the black orb _Corypheus_ , not _Elder One_ , used. Tells him what _the Anchor_ had been made to do. How he _stole_ it.

Solas looks to the mountains ahead of them, gesturing with one hand to the north. He speaks of needing a new home, that this attack only ignited something new within the people here. Mother Giselle was a wise woman, to inspire the people with such a beautiful song. He nods along, more focused on the new home part.

_Skyhold._

The night passes in a blur to him, still hiding away in that precious, dark corner of his mind.

People approach him to offer their thanks, tell him how brave he was and they owe their life to him. Ask him how he jumped so high into the sky to tackle the threat of the dragon. Some ask if he'd like some tea, or water, or some cheap alcohol they saved. Some ask what they're going to do next. He doesn't have all the answers. He's comfortably numb, and maybe he wouldn't have them, anyway.

He _lets_ the people of Thedas shepherd him around like a lost sheep, _lets_ them talk at him. Answers their questions with just enough words to satisfy them. A simple 'yes' or even a nod is enough for most. It's _easy._ For the most part.

Varric asks how he's holding up. The dwarf frowns when he hears the time-old classic ' _I'm fine.'_

"You're a horrible liar, Spiky." Varric shakes his head sadly, waiting for an answer that never comes. He leaves with a heavy, deflated sigh, offering him an ear if he wants to talk later.

He doesn't.

Then Iron Bull comes to ask about 'the new guy'. Erevard isn't a great liar, Bull might be able to catch it. He merely settles on "Later." No lying required, _future problem for future Erevard._  

Vivienne is up next, asking about his health - promising some lavish outing, or something. He doesn't care. Just nods. A problem for _future Erevard._

Blackwall is the best so far, merely clapping his arm on his back and telling him he's glad to see him alive. He leaves quickly, and Sera is much the same - albeit with cruder language. At least she didn't call him broody or weirdy. 

Dorian offers his condolences, but says he is glad to see him alive. He can hear the name ‘Alexius’ in the words afterwards, but blocks it out as soon as that spark of rage ignites again. More to the pile for later. 

Cole too, comes to him. Though, it is more like he appears - from nowhere, suddenly _there_ in front of him. He’d nearly forgotten about the young man at the gates, grey eyes peering at him, almost through him, beneath the all too large hat. The strange boy gives him cryptic words, something about he was ‘too tangled up’ and ‘unlearning not to hurt more, old pains too heavy’. And just as the weight of the words hit him, the boy vanishes. Out of sight, out of mind. 

The Ascian and fairy were next, and he is extra careful not to burst out of that soothing numbness coating his feelings, remains tightly pushed into that little hole he's made for himself and nestled into. But he _listens._

"The pixie will _bond_ with you, and shall ferry messages across the rather sizeable rift between worlds to your Scion friends. Though, I imagine the journey _will_ be rather taxing for them." 

Erevard doesn't focus much on their faces, but was that _concern_ he heard?

"I have the will of a _pixie_ , [ _Dark One_ ], you would do well to remember that! Now, precious sapling…"

The last part is aimed at him, as Feo Ul flutters over to him and claps their hands together with a bright smile. Tells him to raise his hand and something about being 'an adorable sapling'. Adorable wasn't a word he'd ever heard used to describe him, it's almost _funny_...

It felt similar to attuning to an aetheryte, but with more warmth to it - he dimly wonders if it's because this was a _living_ connection, but shoves the thought away. Smothers it, as he looks at the Ascian staring at him. The pixie is delighted, and offers to take a message back to the Scions immediately. He says to tell them he is alive, and will write soon.

The Ascian huffs, clearly annoyed, or maybe amused? "That's all?"

He merely nods. The next person comes along to talk, before the Ascian can follow up with some undoubtedly rude comment: Cullen. Apologies tumble out of him, how he should never have _let_ him go to the dragon, or at least, not alone. Tells him how sorry he is, that he wouldn't _let_ him do that again. He would have died, if not for…

The Ascian is still staring at him, over Cullen's shoulder. Arms crossed over his chest, an almost cocky smirk upon his lips. The Commander turns to him and thanks him, like he doesn't _know_ what the other man is capable of. 

But Cullen doesn't know, they all don't know, and Erevard isn't sure if he should tell them. Cullen thanks the Ascian for saving _the Herald_ , and the Ascian merely shrugs, saying something about 'someone had to'. 

They can all see him, and his knowledge of Ascians tells him that is because he has found a host. He's _wearing_ someone's body right now - someone died for the _Ascian_ to _save him._ His life for another's, because he was _special_   and they weren't. Was it a fair trade? There's another twist deep in his gut again, and he decides he doesn't want to delve into that, reigns his thoughts back in. The answer was more obvious than it should be, but still… Another problem for later added to the growing pile.

Cassandra was next, asking him how he felt. If he needed help, or if he wanted to go back to sleep. She's a bit frantic in the way she speaks, and then Leliana and Josephine come to the little circle. They're all talking at him - to him - about various things. How was he feeling? How is the Mark? Where should they go now? Did he need a healer? Should this wait until morning? _Hello? Are you in there?_

Yes. He's listening. 

The Ascian tuts loudly behind him - _where did he come from? -_ and stretches his arms upward, "I do believe our Hero is tired, and I would very much like to retire as well. The journey here _was_ rather taxing."

There's a look between the Thedas residents, Josephine offers to find the Ascian somewhere to sleep. He insists on his own tent, and the Ambassador promises to see what she can do. They turn, and with a ridiculous little wave of his hand, the Ascian marches off with her. 

Leliana says they will be watching him in the coming weeks, Erevard's initial reaction had told her _enough_ about the man - but he had saved his life nonetheless. For now, he was _enough_ on their side they could keep him around.

 _Wonderful_.

They tell him to go to sleep, that they'd talk in the morning on what to do next. Another debrief of sorts, and he only adds that they should go north - Solas said something called Skyhold was north. He nods, and lets Cassandra lead him back to his tent. Sleep didn't frighten him tonight. The nightmares that would inevitably dog him didn't quite scare him right now, why would they? He was living one now, afterall.

 

* * *

  
  


The meeting was nothing less than absolutely horrible. 

Okay, sure. No one got punched, there wasn’t any yelling or events that most people would consider awful… But it was utterly lifeless and awkward. Uncomfortable as hell, essentially. Left Varric with an itch on his skin that he couldn’t quite get rid of, and a heavy weight wrapped over his heart at the tragic state of things.

First order of business was going through what they lost. The advisors had included them as the group was considered ‘the Herald’s inner circle’ and could be privy to exactly what was lost - many of them had connections (aka, he and Vivienne, maybe Dorian and Bull too) that could help them when they set down again. The focus was what happens next, and apparently Solas had spoken about some dream place called Skyhold that may or may not be over the endless mountains they were going to take a chance on. 

Spiky wasn’t really there for it, and you’d have to be blind and deaf not to pick up on it. Did he think he was doing a good job of hiding it, or was he totally oblivious to what he looked like to the rest of them? This distant, absentminded look he wore the entire time. His gaze never really settling on you, but more through you as he answered questions with as few words as possible. The advisors had to basically wring the report out of him - question after question, hastily worded answers given, and then more questions as so little made sense to them. 

New guy, Emet-Selch, was there too. (His feathers got all ruffled when calling him ‘Emet’, it was _Emet-Selch,_ thank you very much.) Rarely offering input, but asking questions without abandon. “Why was the Inquisition founded? Why did you give him the title Herald of who now? What exactly is a Fade, now?” They were due to head out soon, only going over this quickly as servants and soldiers were packing up and civilians were eating. The logistics of organizing mass amounts of people, _oh joy._ There wasn’t time to run the guy through all of that, and no one really had the mental energy to even attempt it right now after last night. 

So now both of them were scheduled for history and geography lessons, because the man had apparently chosen to stay for a while. Nobody seemed particularly thrilled, to which the one in question merely shrugged and added he needed to study whatever ‘the thing on the Warrior’s hand was’. Erevard barely blinked at it, while the advisors shared a knowing look and decided to move on. Solas actually grumbled about it, stating that there was ‘nothing to observe’ from someone who didn’t even know what the Fade was.

Emet-Selch gave some snappy little reply with a dismissive hand-wave, about being a ‘sorcerer of eld’ and could _figure it out_. Blessed Josephine intervened before the two grouches could get into it.

Erevard added that he believed it was _permanent._ Corypheus said so, when he ever so nicely tried to rip it off with some creepy orb. 

Cullen asked for him to tell them _everything,_ in detail, about what happened. 

So he told them. The horrible pain had come back that they’d all panicked watching him endure in the Chantry as he faced down the absolutely hideous red lyrium monster, as the dragon circled him. Corypheus monologued at him for a while, calling the mark ‘The Anchor’. Said he breached the Fade in the name of another once, saw the throne of the gods was ‘empty’. Erevard saw the signal fire, promised to kill him, and then fell into some hole somewhere. The world went black for a bit, and he woke up in a cave, half-dead and freezing. The Mark was going nuts and some demons waltzed over to check him out, and an instinctive lift of his hand tore open a rift that swallowed them whole. Then, he wandered, and the world went black _again._

He spared a sad little glance to Emet-Selch, adding that, during the ‘fight’ with Corypheus he had called upon Midgardsormr and got no answer from the dragon. But there was a spark of something else. 

“It was you, wasn’t it?” he asks, tone still utterly devoid of any emotion. 

Emet-Selch tuts, but nods. “And why exactly did you feel you should ever so recklessly throw yourself back at Corypheus, alone, after the events in the Chantry?”

“I had to.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

They stared at one another. Golden eyes narrow, while blue ones widen for but a second, then dart away in shame. 

Varric remained perfectly still throughout the exchange, had to bite down on his tongue. Corypheus wasn’t supposed to be alive. They killed him. It had been years, and he was dead. _How many bolts_ had he put into the damned Darkspawn? Hawke _killed them._ They all did! Dead. No pulse, no breath and tons of stab wounds. D. E. A. D. 

Sure, he saw the bastard crawl his way up the little hill at Haven, but it could’ve been something else. It wasn’t confirmed yet. There was a chance it wasn’t him. 

Well, that was his confirmation done now.

The meeting was over after the awful pregnant silence that sat in place after that, and the mages were asked to help clear the snow for the wagons. Varric and some of the others could walk or hop into one of them with the women and children - and was told to take Erevard with him if he took a wagon. He shouldn’t be walking with his injuries-

“I’ll walk.” And he was out of the tent without another word.

Maker, he was _stubborn._

There was only one logical thing to do. He needed to get Hawke. Let her know that… That something was wrong here. Smuggle her in somehow. Can’t let Cassandra know, or even Leliana, maybe. Maker, he didn’t _want_ this, but _Corypheus?_

_Shit._

 

* * *

  
  


They were so quiet on the outside. Quick glances, don't stare at him, don't stare. He doesn't trust me, I don't trust him, what does he want with me? What can I give him? Wistful, withdrawn and dangerous curiosity plucking at their hearts. 

Cole wished they wouldn't hurt.

Emet-Selch, a name, a mask. Heavy on his shoulders, he walks with the weight of a time forgotten. Wants the Warrior to remember, can' tell him, wouldn't believe me. _Ascian_ not _friend_ anymore _. What did you land yourself into this time, my weary wanderer?_ He wants him to see again, to remember, but the mask can’t come off yet. His hurt is old and vast and far away, Cole doesn’t understand what he sees. A city on fire, then under water, a brilliant light above shimmering, glowing, painting the streets below.

And Erevard…

He is angry, and sad. It boils and churns and knots in his chest, _hurting is what I am, Weapon of Light, Warrior of Light, Herald. No difference, no Erevard._ He thinks it is because he must, lets the hurt fester and grow until it bursts, or it doesn’t. _How many are counting on me? How many? How many?_ He doesn’t see the people in front of him the same way, and that should be enough.

_Woe betide the man who stands with the Weapon of Light, for death will be his reward. Death for him and his kin and all that he holds-_

No! Not like _that!_

Cole wants to tell him his hurt touches the others. Varric worries for him. _Spiky’s not well, distant, cold and silent like the wind._

Cassandra wants to help, but she can’t find the words. Too blunt, tongue tangled with the thoughts she is afraid to speak. _I wouldn’t help. I would only upset him more, as I did before._

And there are so many more. Too much hurt, with Erevard at the middle. They walk in the snow, no words to one another. His eyes remain forward, wanting, wishing, hoping they will find the place where the sky is kept soon. 

But if he tugs on the tangle and pulls-

He _wanted_ to help, but… his Compassion told him not to. 

Erevard would be okay again when the mist came back. 

But it wasn’t just him who wanted to help! 

Maybe… Maybe he could try. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uni has been kicking my ass and work kinda screwed me, as we lost a manager and I have to pick up. My hours essentially tripled so I have no promises on updates - but again I WILL NEVER GIVE THIS UP.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive I swear
> 
> Uni was absolute hell and so was work - but I've been chipping away at this and 2 other fics (Pieces of Him and Imperfect). I won't promise fast updates but again, not abandoning this.Life is just throwing my curveballs and I got too many things on my plate, sorry y'all. :V 
> 
> Hope you enjoy though, this is a bit of a different chapter where I focused on Fray and changing some things up. I didn't enjoy how they introduced Cole with... dying people literally just hanging around in the courtyard so... Yeah. And plot things coming. (:

Fray was nothing short of furious. 

 

For _days_ the man had surrounded himself in this haze of numbness to the people around him, suffering in silence while they tried to gently pry him open - get him to _talk._ He wasn’t even doing a good job at shirking their concerns, with the occasional poorly made excuse of having to do something else or just the most overused, mumbled ‘I’m fine’. Erevard hadn’t even called on Fray to talk, he _knew_ of everyone on this horrid world, the man could speak to him. Fray already knew what hounded his thoughts. What lay under the mask, his doubts, his fears… _Everything._  

 

It was bordering on insulting that the man had yet to confide in him. _Stubborn mule_ , Fray murmured, currently watching the subject of his frustrations asleep, finally, after tossing and turning the past few nights away. No longer on some hastily thrown down bedroll, but a _proper_ bed once again that he could sink into, reach for small comforts he always denied himself. A room to himself, the _Herald_ , far from anyone else - a refuge.  

 

Skyhold proved to be an acceptable base of operations, though Fray had to agree with the Ascian's comments about the castle: _boring._

 

Everyone had been wide-eyed, awestruck and overjoyed to find such a place. And while Erevard shared their joy of _finally_ not having to trudge through the mountains anymore… It was… disappointing, to say the least. He kept his thoughts to himself, politely agreeing with people when they added their own grandiose vision of the castle - but in truth it just wasn't _much_ to him. The Ascian mumbled about the structure, but applauded the clever use of what had to be a spell to warm what lay behind the walls. It just wasn’t that impressive after wandering the high-climbing streets of Ishgard, or the Ala Mhigan palace, or the plethora of other places Erevard had visited in his time as Warrior. 

 

The comparison to Ishgard made him ache all the more for the closest thing he had known to a _home,_ though the pain was shoved away as soon as it came - _duty_ first, of course, he thinks with a roll of his eyes. 

 

He wasn't doing a good job of _holding down the fort_ without Myste around. The brat had been busy since they came to this awful place, always flitting to and fro; _compassion_ spurring him to new places that Erevard had only touched. The boy should've been due back by now, but _still_ wasn't here, leaving Fray to deal with… _this_ . Though he'd known the elven mage had essentially _spooked_ the boy, now was the time Erevard _needed_ them. Both of them, working in tandem to keep Erevard steady in these awful times.

 

He'd been shaken at the prospect of another death under his belt, and the possibility of it being _permanent_ . Though the man ignored it at best most of the time, throwing himself into danger with nary a second thought, it still utterly terrified him. And it _should_ , Fray added to himself, pacing the room as the sun had begun to rise outside, a soft light shining through the curtains nearby. 

 

_You are just a man_ , words he had often told the Warrior in times of doubt. But words weren't enough to sway his mind, life often had a way of throwing that thought back into the gutter. Unfair wasn't a word powerful enough to describe it, and it left Fray frustrated and angry. It was easy when it was just some utterly inconsequential fool abusing his good nature - to air his thoughts and the wretched person taking advantage of Erevard's goodwill, but when it was circumstance and deeds that _only_ the Warrior could accomplish… Well…

 

It got more complicated. 

 

The frustrations remained, but what could Fray do? _Weapon of Light_ , that horrid title he wore over his shoulders. Always weighing him down, too heavy a burden he could not - _would not -_ share. _And_ with an Ascian here… 

 

But he wasn't going to get anywhere with Erevard asleep, and running mental gymnastics only left him seething. There were other ways to occupy himself at this hour. A quick look behind the curtains gave him at least another couple of hours before the man woke, and no one would be awake yet.

 

Not that anyone could _see_ him, anyway. An existence shared between both worlds, safe from times he willed himself seen. Even Erevard himself remained unaware of his presence on most days, though if that was his lack of attention or Fray purposefully shadowing himself depended on the day. Myste was the even more elusive of the two; remaining tucked away in the darkest corners of Erevard’s soul, the occasional curious glance given at passerby’s and people surrounding the man… Except on Thedas. The little brat was having a _wonderful_ time here - zipping to and fro, exploring without a care in the world. Fray had a word for it: _annoying._

 

Fray passed through the doorway and began the long descent into the main hall, still rather dusty and debris littering the oversized room. Though the castle had not shown any signs of weathering an assault, it had endured the wear of time. Overgrown plants climbed the walls, walkways, windows and anywhere the sun touched. Some even managed to find their way inside the buildings, and were to be the first to be removed carefully. The wood was old, decaying and completely unusable for the most part, being of the utmost importance to replace first. Although not all of it was rotten, most of it was, and much of it had even fallen apart on it’s own - like what lay upon the floors around him as he walked to the doors. The courtyard currently housed most of the refugees, hastily thrown up tents and occupied bedrolls covered the grass that miraculously stayed healthy, at least. The occasional puddle of water that remained in the uneven ground undoubtedly helped, dotting the downtrodden paths. The worst of the rubble had been a collapsed archway, cutting the Inquisition off from the other half of the interior of the fortress, and had been one of the first tasks given to the soldiers - haul away the stone, save what they could and begin reparations on what lay beyond, housing as many as possible first and foremost. A handful of soldiers with torches walked along the rows and walls, though several of them began to extinguish their light sources with the rising sun peeking over the horizon. 

 

At least the child had been helping at night, but he’d been gone for quite a while now - and the even _stranger_ boy within their merry little band was sniffing around where he shouldn’t be. The one named Cole. Myste said they were of similar minds, and Cole was a Spirit of Compassion, albeit a unique one. Erevard had discovered the ‘boy’s’ nature recently, and took to avoiding him after the unsettling experience he’d received, but not without some internal debate on what to do about the curious case.

 

He’d stumbled upon Solas, Vivienne and Cassandra arguing over the boy shortly after their arrival - the Circle mage declaring him a demon, whereas the other stated it was much more complex than Spirit or Demon. He never understood as to why everyone always pinned decisions on to him, but he listened to each side patiently, including Cole’s - finding him much later in the evening, wandering the healer tents. 

 

His side consisted of demonstration. 

 

It both terrified and fascinated Erevard.

 

His aether remained pathetically low, using what little he had on the way to Skyhold healing the most critical of soldiers, prolonging what little time they had left. Hope given to them in the form of suffering for a chance once they found the promised fortress, the healers stubbornly keeping them alive. The journey had been nothing but arduous, slow, and difficult for the ones who had sustained injury back in Haven, and even with Erevard’s expert healing… He couldn’t save all of them.

 

He’d become intimately familiar with the healer’s area the evening of their arrival; the healers themselves and each and every life they had lost in that corner of Skyhold. There weren’t many, but with each one that slipped through their fingers, the blame only became heavier and heavier - constant reminders of his self-proclaimed failure at Haven. Failure that hounded him even now, unable to save them all with how weak he was still. 

 

Fray had watched the entire exchange from the shadows. Erevard entered the makeshift infirmary, one of the few rooms immediately repaired that lined the inner courtyard’s walls, dark and lined with cots holding dying soldiers and civilians. Healers bustling to and fro with hastily concocted potions, bindings and all manner of work ahead of them. With a heavy sigh and heavier heart, he’d gone to those he could spare the few droplets of aether he had in him left and helped with what he could - but without much knowledge of Thedan medicine, nor the practises of it, there simply wasn’t much to do. Not without getting in the way.

 

So, he’d taken a seat in the corner of the room and watched, unable to help, unable to _do_ much of anything, his face falling into his hands with the sting of tears barely hidden behind his palms. 

 

And then he saw Cole.

 

The boy walked between the healers and patients much like a ghost. No one took notice of him, with quiet steps and muttered words upon his lips, passing between the hurried people without even a glance spared towards him, stopping at one of the patients who lay upon their cot with closed eyes and shallow, labored breaths. Erevard had seen to them earlier, anyone with a pair of eyes could see they didn’t have long left, and it was just a matter of easing the pain. But with so many just like he… 

 

Cole stood beside the dying man for a moment, his head bowed low with the wide brim of his hat hiding so much of his face, his back towards Erevard who still sat in the corner of the room, eyes transfixed on the scene before him, until the glint of something against the low candle light caught his eye-

 

Steel. _A dagger._

 

And before Erevard even had the chance to bolt from his seat, the boy spoke loudly, “Hurts. It hurts, it hurts, someone _make it stop hurting,_ Maker, please…” 

 

Not a single person in the room with him registers the boy’s words, even though he had spoken loud enough for them to hear. Only Erevard does. 

 

“The healers have done all they can. It will take him hours to die. Every moment will be agony.”

 

Confusion. Worry. Panic. Hurt. Everything hits him like a wave crashing violently against the shore. Doubt. Fear. Pain. Kill a man… in pain… _Suffering_ . Was mercy all he could give? All that was left? Was it _fair?_

 

Cole stands still as a statue in the dim candle light, with only his grip on the dagger tightening ever so slightly. His voice is low again now, but he hears every word crystal clear. 

 

“He wants… Mercy. He wants… Help.”

 

It wasn’t Erevard who put the dagger to the man’s heart, so quick and quiet that he never heard the sound of steel piercing skin, nor the last relieved breath he had taken. It wasn’t him who had taken a life that night, but he had learned a lesson that Eorzea had never given to him. This didn’t happen back home. Had never happened, and hopefully, never would. 

 

It was what the man wanted, wasn’t it? He asked. Begged, really. He did the _right_ thing. He took lives all the time, why would this one be any different? 

 

But it was. It was so, so different… 

 

Fray only watched, his own stomach twisting and churning at the horrid knot of emotions Erevard was trying to untangle himself out of. 

 

Cole said he was hurting, and they were alike. They could help the hurt, for those who they may yet save. So they walked from patient to patient, undisturbed by the other healers still working late into the early morning. Some were easy, some water, maybe new bandages, but they lost more that night. 

 

And now with the remainder on the road to recovery, a steady amount of rest and medicine all that they needed - the focus went on repairing the fortress and preparing it as a new base of operations for the Inquisition. Meaning, Cole wasn’t as busy as he used to be.

 

His focus fell on Erevard. Trailing him on occasion, ever silently but _poking and prodding_ incessantly, Fray constantly knocking him away like a child from swiping from the cookie jar. Thankfully, he was quite successful at it, with Erevard taking little to no notice of the boy constantly at his heels - though that was in part due to how the man was still buried under the weight of Haven’s disaster. Regardless, the boy was entirely unwelcome, and _stubborn._

 

Fray was letting his thoughts wander into exactly what he had just taken this little walk for to avoid, having lost track of where he was walking long ago due to lack of attention paid to the way forward. A glance at his surroundings revealed he was near what was to be made into the stables - an area recently revealed from behind the rubble cleared out just recently. The barebones of the structure were in place already - hastily made with wood to house the mounts of the utmost importance of the Inquisition, and what needed to be within reach immediately. Fray already knew the bulk of the force remained below in the valley, having already seen the mass of hundreds of tents along the frozen river from Erevard’s eyes once before. 

 

It had irked the man that so many people were forced to remain in the cold, and he was given a room all to himself, high in the tower - warm, cozy and _quiet._ Though he had been secretly relieved, a part of his conscience kept stubbornly gnawing at his thoughts. _Stubborn old man_ , Fray sighed. 

 

He looked at the stable, currently uninhabited by the stablehands, but only the animals themselves - sleeping horses of varying sizes and colours belonging to the inner circle and high ranking members of the Inquisition. 

 

Erevard _hated_ his horse. 

 

The thing was as large as they could get and still barely came close to being comfortable for the man. She was a large, white animal with nearly golden eyes, the largest of their stock - though not by much. Bull’s came as a close second, the same breed and almost of similar colouring. Dennett had called the breed ‘Imperial Warmblood’ and said it was as big as they could get them, and had inquired as to what Erevard had usually ridden back on his own world. 

 

“Chocobo.” He’d answered, flatly. 

 

The horsemaster sputtered, brows shooting up in near disbelief, “Choco… What now?” 

 

“Chocobo.” Again, flat and already internally wincing at opening his mouth. 

 

“Mind telling me what a _chocobo_ is lad? You sayin’ a name isn’t telling me very much, and I’m interested in all manner of mounts, you know. You ever hear ‘bout Halla? _Majestic_ creatures. Would give an arm to ride one.” 

 

The man had talked his ear off about all sorts of breeds and why he loved this one and not so much that one but this _other_ one was just beautiful in the colouring, and then _Halla_ were this and that and-

 

Fray had tuned out, and Erevard followed shortly after - his thoughts turning to the Chocobo he had left behind upon the Source.

 

Of all things, he felt sad about a _bird._ He’d mentally slapped himself for the feelings he had let bubble up, but… He missed her. Prin. The big fluffy menace, Fray had called her a few times.

 

_Prin was a brat._ Fray never understood the man’s attachment to the fluffy menace. Sure, she was a great mount, but as soon as she was riderless, it was like herding cats. Except it was a really, really big one. With a beak. And feathers. And very loud. Always curious - shoving her beak into everything, stealing food, demanding to be in the tent despite not fitting all the time. She even refused to be handled by others on most days! She had a nightmare of a temperament for a chocobo, and even though she had been a gift… Hells, Haurchefant had offered a different one after noting the stubborn behavior… But no. Erevard saw it as a challenge. 

 

And… The other one that would fit him was double the price… 

 

Nope. It was a challenge, and his favorite colour was red, anyway! (It wasn’t.) And the white on her tail was just like his hair, they’d match. There was a veritable mountain of excuses until the knight gave him a lopsided grin and agreed to it, paying the fee and being handed the reins to the fluffy monster-to-be. Sure, she had been all bright eyes and happy chirps for the first few hours - ‘maybe she won’t be too bad’, they foolishly said - but then her _real_ nature came out at the first sight of food. 

 

She’d snapped her beak shut over the slice of bread Haurchefant had been about to hand over to Erevard in the blink of an eye, proudly chirping and kweh-ing like she had just caught some prized prey while Haurchefant stared in disbelief and Erevard had begun _laughing._

 

He laughed until she did it to him, of course. Then it wasn’t funny, but it had grown on him. Oh, how it had grown on him… 

 

He gave her scraps all the time (spoiled her…), let her into the tent all the time despite her getting tangled in it due to her size - and subsequently, ripping it to shreds. _Doesn’t matter, I’ll buy a new one,_ he’d smile at her, tell himself that each and every time. She _almost always_ refused to be handled by anyone else, unless he handed her off and had to almost scold her to behave while he was gone… 

 

Nightmare bird. 

 

But he adored her, and the sight of the stables being built put that pang of worry right back in his heart each and every time he passed by it. _How is she doing? Where would she even be, now? Is she scared? Does she miss me?_

 

Just another name to add to the pile. This one just happened to be a chocobo. 

 

His trek continued, following the only way forward available to him: a half-broken stairway winding around the the main tower housing the hall and library - which is where he was headed to next. 

 

Dorian had taken residence up there, along with Solas on the lowest floor and Leliana on the highest. The library portion belonging to Dorian and several of the mages who had begun to fill the shelves with what knowledge they had salvaged from Haven’s assault (the Tevinter complained to Sera while Erevard had passed by about the lack of good books), while Leliana’s agents occupied the upper floors with… whatever they did. Birds flew in, out and around the highest point - her ravens, messenger birds of the Inquisition - a rookery and spy’s home all in one. Solas took a rotunda for himself, painting the encompassing walls while he wasn’t busy. There was more yet to be cleared away - a smaller courtyard that was hopefully going to become a garden of sorts lay beyond, and still the depths of the fortress had yet to be braved. 

 

A prison had been found and already had begun to house some of the more important prisoners of the Inquisition - namely, Alexius, who had been handed over some time ago. Erevard had yet to see the man, still avoiding him completely. He had a feeling more would come eventually. They were just getting started, afterall. 

 

There was more connected to the area, but the passage of time had been lost to him, as a flicker of awareness passed through him. Like a gentle breeze, a brush of aether across his senses - a familiar presence, a sign that he was near…

 

_Myste had returned._   
  
  



End file.
